


Castle of Broken Glass

by JensenAckles13



Series: Monsters and Marvels [1]
Category: Avengers, Frostiron - Fandom, Marvel
Genre: AU, Alcoholism, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Asgard, Asgardian Loki, Forced Marriage, Howard's A+ Parenting, Immortal Tony, Jotun Loki, Jotunhiem, King Howard, King Odin - Freeform, King Thor, King Tony, Loki's a dick, M/M, Midgard, Modern Royalty, Odin's A+ Parenting, Royalty AU, So is Tony Though, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Younger Tony, but only at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 04:35:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 26,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2415158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JensenAckles13/pseuds/JensenAckles13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is the Prince of Midgard; only twenty five and the sole heir to the throne. Loki Odinson is the youngest Prince of Asgard; nearly two thousand years old with no hope of ever attaining a throne. King Howard and the AllFather come together in alliance when they realize they cannot defeat Jotunheim on their own: the result? The forced (but the Kings' prefer the word 'arranged') marriage between Tony of Midgard and Loki of Asgard.<br/>See, but here's the thing; Tony and Loki hate each other (okay, so it's more of a mutual dislike). Put together one alcoholic genius and another discredited prince, and all that's left is chaos and trickery.<br/>And then tragedy strikes and suddenly, all they have is each other.....<br/>(Title changs- previously known as 'We Danced Like Monsters Through the Night')</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Princeof Midgard

Prince Anthony was a silent statue at his father’s _(King of Midgard, Howard Stark)_ side, head ducked, hands folded neatly before him, fingers fiddling with the hem of his deep red tunic; no doubt, the elegant clothing was a gift from the idiot boy’s father.  
The young prince didn’t even seem to be paying attention to what was being said in the council meeting; as it was, neither was Loki _(but that didn’t matter; Odin had told him this ten times over, and no matter how annoying it got, he still seemed to think Loki was incapable of remembering even the simplest things)_.

“…..and what is it you think about this, Anthony?” Howard asked his son, turning to face the boy, who blinked multiple times in rapid succession; Loki couldn’t help but notice the pinched look to his eyes or the set to his mouth or the tense way he held himself, as if he were in pain. Headache, perhaps?

“I think that whatever you choose, _father_ , will, as always, be the best route.” Oh, this boy was fierce.  
Howard smiled, but it was stiff; fake, clearly, though no one else _(aside from Anthony)_ seemed bright enough to realize this.

“Of course. Then we will move in on Jotunhiem from the North, where the main unit is stationed, and then we will send a larger group in from the South while they are incapacitated with our first attack.”  
Oh, how naïve must Howard be, thinking they could beat an entire battalion of Jotun’s…but perhaps, with the Aeiser’s help, they could.  
It seemed the boy agreed with Loki, if the harsh glaring at the back of Howard’s head meant anything. Or perhaps he was just angry with his father; a common occurrence for rich young princes who didn’t know an ounce about true suffering.

Anthony couldn’t be more than twenty-five, the sole heir to the throne. Rumor has it that Maria Stark, the last Queen Midgard ever had, had died not six months ago in a tragic car accident; the poor boy had been devastated, even going so far as to attempting to take his own life, though no one really knows _why_ he would do something to that extent _(well, no one aside from the boy, and perhaps Howard himself)_.

“Father, might I suggest-” Anthony began, but was quickly _(and quite rudely)_ cut off by Howard.

“None of that, Anthony. Be silent and let us handle this.” In short, let the _adults_ handle this, Anthony.  
Anthony narrowed his eyes before standing abruptly, silencing the room of chattering council members; Odin moved his single eye to the boy and glared fiercely, something that would’ve had a more intelligent being trembling in their boots. As it was, Anthony didn’t seem to be the more intelligent being, as he just let his eyes roam round the council, as if daring the members to say something, before turning on his heel and walking from the room like he had every right to.

Howard sighed; a long, suffering thing. “I apologize for him; he hasn’t been right since his mother died.” Ah, Loki knew this one well; pull for sympathy, as it always gained what one wanted.

“It is quite alright, dear Howard. One cannot always control their child’s actions,” Odin replied, nodding his head in response to the unnecessary apology.  

The rest of the meeting droned on; Loki was quite bored throughout the rest, hating that his only form of entertainment _(the only thing worth unveiling in this damn place)_ had quite literally walked out the door. It had taken nearly three hours of convincing simply to get Odin here; another two to convince him that Midgard could be a resourceful ally; King Howard was quite the creator, and his creations could be useful in helping in the defeat of Jotunhiem. As it was, Loki was sure they could form some sort of peace treaty, but Odin refused _(as did Howard)_ to see that peace was something that could actually happen without all the bloodshed. Fighting for peace; how ironic that would be.

After the meeting, he went off in search of the wayward prince, deeming it reasonable to attempt a conversation with his will-be husband.  
Yes, you did hear correctly.  
Prince Anthony Stark of Midgard was to be Loki’s husband in two weeks time; according to Howard and Odin _(really, it had been Odin’s idea)_ the only way to achieve full alliance between two realms was the joining of two individuals, one from each of the royal families.  
Of course, this made no sense, as they already had an alliance brewing; apparently, however, it was not yet official and wouldn’t be until the pair was joined in marriage.

It took a bit to find the missing prince _(he was much more discreet than Loki thought a prince could possibly be)_ , but he succeeded in his task eventually, finding the boy in some garden _(a beautiful garden)_ , kneeling beneath a large weeping willow where a bench was situated, clearly well used, if the scribbled writing on it said anything; it was a secluded area, some place no one dared go- too beautiful to ruin, to empty to visit, too open for a world of beings who feared solitude.  
The tree formed a wide canopy around the boy, sunlight filtering in through gaps in the heavy branches, which were low, hanging just a foot above the ground. The air seemed fresher in here somehow, hidden from the outside world; as if it were its _own_ little world in here.  
It was as if Loki could finally breathe _(as if he hadn’t been doing that all along)_.

The boy had his head in his hands, shoulders trembling, fingers fisted tightly in the dark curls atop his head; he looked terrible, and Loki couldn’t even see his face yet. Was he crying?

“Why are you here?” the boy asked in a quiet voice. Loki almost startled; he’d arrived soundlessly- he’d been sure Anthony hadn’t heard a thing.

“Well, you _are_ my future husband; I believe I have every right to seek you out,” Loki replied with a shrug, watching the boy _(young man, really)_ with sharp eyes.

“Key word there being ‘future’, Bambi,” the prince replied, lifting his head and settling his wide, chocolate eyes on Loki; funny, the boy had just as sharp a gaze as Loki did. And who in the nine realms was Bambi?

“Are you hurt?” Loki asked, taking note of the tension in the boy’s back and shoulders; the tight line that formed his mouth; the clench of his fists in his hair.

“Headache,” the boy mumbled, head buried in his knees once more.

“Have you not sought out a healer?” he asked, head tilted to the side curiously; if the boy was hurting _(and he very clearly was; Loki had had his fair share of those nasty headaches over the years)_ then the only obvious solution was to find someone to help rid of the pain.

“We don’t have healers here, Bambi. We don’t have any of that magic mumbo-jumbo. They’re called doctors and yeah, I did go to see one and yeah, I did get something to help but Howard seems convinced that I’m going to OD so he took them. Will you leave now?”  
Interesting; he called his father by his real name.

“I will make you a deal,” he said instead, kneeling in front of the boy, who simply raised his head and glared for all he was worth. “If I get you your medicine back, you must allow me to take you to dinner tonight.”  
Anthony gazed at him with those intensely careful eyes, scrutinizing, before seeming to come to a conclusion.

“Deal.”

Loki nodded and, without another word, turned on his heel and vanished; of course, Howard had created a magic sensing device that would more than be able to announce Loki’s arrival, so he made sure to teleport himself a good deal away, outside the castle where he wouldn’t be caught _(Odin hated it when he did magic; he was convinced it would disgrace the family name)_.

He strolled inside the castle _(and it was quite extraordinary for a Midgardian creation; even Loki had to admit he was impressed)_ in search of Howard; he spotted him across the room, laughing with one of the council members, sipping some amber liquid in an elegant glass _(likely scotch, as it seemed to be a favorite of the Stark family)_.  
Loki moved towards the pair with a polite smile on his face, as if he’d just spotted someone he’d spent a large deal of time searching for.

“King Howard,” he called delightedly; the man in question paused his conversation and moved his eyes to Loki, a wide smile pulling up the corners of his lips _(a real one, not the pseudo one he’d given his son earlier; how strange)_.

“Ah, Prince Loki,” the man greeted as Loki found his way over to the pair; he bowed lowly, as he knew was tradition in any castle anyone would encounter. “You may rise,” the man said, even as he bowed to Loki in return.

“It is quite lovely to meet you, m’lord,” Loki said, the smile remaining plastered on his face; it would seem Howard couldn’t name a fake smile when he saw one.

“As to you, Loki. What brings you here?”

“Actually,” Loki began. “I was just speaking with your son.” He didn’t miss the way the lines around Howard’s mouth tightened at this. “He has told me that he has chronic headaches, and you have his medication? I was simply wondering why this was, and if he might have it back…” He trailed off, widening his eyes impeccably so; innocence was always the best route in delicate situations.

“Oh, his mother got them as well. If a woman can handle them, then so can Anthony.” Oh, the sexist pig. If he weren’t a king, Loki likely would’ve thrown him out a window already.

“I completely agree; however, it seems he cannot properly function without his medication to help dull the pain. As it is, I would rather have a properly working husband, as I’m sure you would have a properly working son. I’m sure you understand; appearance is everything, these days, and I would think one would like to keep the proper appearance of a high Prince, rather than this rebellious streak he seems to be sporting.” He wasn’t called the Silvertongue for nothing.

“Ah, you truly are your father’s son. Well, here you are.” The man pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket, settling it in Loki’s palm and closing his fingers around it; oh, the man must have been dangling these in front of the poor boy’s face. Incentive, perhaps? “I trust you will end this ridiculous disobedience of his?” This time, the warmth was gone, replaced with something colder; something achingly like threat.

“Of course, m’lord. I will do my best.” He bowed once more before turning his back on the king and striding out the door, teleporting himself back in front of the canopy of branches before parting them and stepping inside; Anthony was in the same position he had been when Loki had left earlier.

“Here you are,” Loki said, throwing the bottle down in front of the young prince.  
Anthony peeked out from behind his knees before taking the bottle, eyeing the contents carefully before pouring two of the small pills into his hand and swallowing them dry.

“Thanks,” the boy mumbled before resting his head back in his knees.

Loki waited silently for the pills to take affect; he watched the tension _(most of it, at least)_ seep from the boy’s form and the tight clench of his fists relax until open palms were resting atop his head.

“Now then,” Loki announced as he straightened. “I will come for you tonight at seven o’clock sharp.” With that, he vanished from the boy’s sight, looking forward to the night more than he was willing to admit.

 


	2. Dinner Date

 

 Tony scowled at the ground the entire way to wherever the hell it was they were going, walking beside Loki with his head down, pretending he didn’t want to stab the god in the back. 

There was still a dull ache in his temples, but that was always there, so he’d live _(if Loki didn’t kill him by the end of this)_.   
Honestly, if Loki knew _anything_ about him, he wouldn’t have asked him on this date; he was _Tony Stark_ for Christ’s sake. At least one thing would have to be blown up by the end of the night otherwise it wouldn’t be a proper date with the famous Tony Stark.   
Howard? Well, go with him and he’d buy you the entire god damn restaurant.

Tony wasn’t quite sure what he thought about Loki yet, other than ‘asshole’ every time he saw the god’s _(albeit sexy)_ smirking face. He was handsome, sure, but he seemed to have the ‘holier than thou’ attitude, and god knows Tony already got enough of that from Howard; he didn’t need it from his future _(as they’d already discussed)_ husband, too. God, maybe he could just blow Loki up, too. Then again, the god seemed to hate his father just as much as Tony hated his own _(and was more than a little ashamed to call him such)_ , even if he hid it well. There had been quite a few narrowed eyed glares _(easily disguised as simple curiosity)_ , though he was fairly certain Loki didn’t even realize he’d been doing it; habit, maybe? Then again, the migraine he’d been sporting since Howard made him get up early that morning to- get this- help the slave Howard had bought earlier that week make breakfast could’ve clouded his judgment. So Tony had helped and after breakfast, the young woman _(couldn’t have been older than twenty)_ mysteriously went missing _(though if she happened to find the open back door and the bag of food and money by it Tony had ‘accidently’ left there after hinting that said back door would be open, he would not be responsible for anything that she decided to do with the ‘stolen’ items)_. Now, Tony knew the god thought he was just some young, naïve idiot, but he wouldn’t think that after, Tony decided, the chair he would be sitting in at the restaurant went crawling away with him still sitting in it, or maybe when the god’s salad blew up in his face, or maybe even when Tony used the portal he’d built last week to take himself back home where he could hide in his lab and not think about Loki for the next two weeks. The latter option seemed to be the best, if only because Loki was not- and would never be- in his lab because it was _his_ , not Loki’s.

He’d been so lost in thought that he’d somehow managed to fall behind, and ran directly into Loki’s back when the other stopped. Loki turned amused emerald eyes back over his shoulder, finding Tony’s, before the god let out a huff and strolled inside the restaurant like he owned the damn place. Oh, Tony wanted to murder him _(no matter how sexy he was)_.   
He wasn’t sure what restaurant they were in, and he didn’t really care, as long as there was food and a stuck up god pranks could be played on.   
Of course, he recognized the restaurant when he went inside because, he realized, it was one of the ones he’d loved so much he’d ended up buying; some Italian restaurant he didn’t know the name of but also didn’t care because food.

“Are you like, some creepy stalker? ‘Cause believe me, I’ve had enough of those and don’t need another,” Tony said as he took lead from the god and led them to his favorite table in the corner; secluded, where not many would see or anyone who did would question.   
A snort sounded from behind him as he sat.

“No, Stark, I am not some ‘creepy stalker’, as you so nicely put it. This was by chance and nothing more. A favorite, perhaps?” Loki questioned, settling himself down in the leather padded seat across from Tony.

“I own it,” Tony replied without preamble.

Loki blinked. “Of course you do,” the god grumbled before turning his attention to the menu.

Tony didn’t even have to look, ordering the same as he always did _(alfredo with black pepper and a bit of lemon; they had the best alfredo Tony had ever had the pleasure of tasting, along with a nice red wine that he forgot the name of)_.   
Loki ordered some fancy soup that Tony couldn’t pronounce.   
After their orders, they sat in silence _(very awkward silence, might Tony add)_.

He cleared his throat. “So,” Tony began, attention on the god. “Why did you ask me here?”

“I simply wished to get to know you,” Loki said with a shrug, taking a sip of his wine.

“Why?” Tony asked, raising a brow at the god.

“Oh, I don’t know…perhaps because you are going to be my husband in two weeks time? I think that warrants it.”

It was Tony’s turn to shrug. “Couldn’t wait two weeks?” It’s not like they could call it off anyways.

“Perhaps, but I’m a curious man; I’m sure you understand that,” the god replied, arching a perfectly shaped brow. Fuck yeah, Tony understood that, but the guy was still treating Tony with kid gloves and that was _so_ not okay _(he got that enough from Howard, he didn’t need it from his soon-to-be husband, too)_ , so he vowed to himself that he wouldn’t make any conscious effort to _understand_ anything until the god _understood_ as well.

“Here’s the thing,” Tony said, hands folded before him on the table. “I know I’m not nearly as old as you and in a way, I’m happy about that, but that doesn’t mean I’m an idiot like you seem to think I am. I’m the son of the smartest man of the century; I think you understand that that means I got _something_ from him, and clearly it wasn’t his _charming_ personality. So if we’re going to do this, whatever _this_ is, I need you to stop talking to me like I’m five and start treating me like an adult; I think you understand what it’s like to be treated as an idiotic young prince, and I’m assuming you hated it just as much as I, so please, don’t underestimate me; it get’s annoying after a while.” Loki, who had being watching him coolly throughout his little tirade, nodded slowly before asking,

“What are your thoughts on the Kings’ plan’s for Jotunhiem?” God, did Loki know how long he’d been waiting for someone to ask him that? For someone to treat him like he actually had a god damn brain for once?

“They’re absolutely ridiculous; starting a war between two allied realms and Jotunhiem is the dumbest possible solution to whatever they’re trying to achieve. Fighting for peace; I mean, Jesus, can it get more ironic than that? Honestly, the best way to go would be a peace treaty; it would satisfy all sides without the unnecessary bloodshed. I mean, what’s the point of declaring war on a realm that’s done nothing more than threaten war? Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Judging by the small smile tipping Loki’s lips, Tony had passed whatever test that had been set up for them.

“Father is too hungry for Laufey’s blood. I am…unsure why this is, but he will not stop until he has killed Jotunhiem’s king. Laufey has taken the Casket of Ancient Winters and hid it I know not where; Father has some ancient grudge against Laufey; returning the Casket safely is only a…pleasant bonus.”

Tony frowned. “But that Casket belongs to Laufey _anyways_. It was Asgard that took it from them in the first place; so, what, Odin’s upset that they took back what was rightfully theirs?” Loki’s smile widened a tad before he shook his head.

“No, Father is upset that it is now in his enemy’s hands’, not that they have taken it at all, but rather that he is short this powerful weapon.”

But Tony’s mind was running a mile a minute now, barely paying attention to what Loki said.

“The Casket would give off an energy signature, wouldn’t it?” he asked, turning his eyes back to Loki. The god raised a brow but nodded.

“It does; however, I cannot trace the signature; as it is magic based, it cannot be traced by another’s magic unless that magic that created it,” the god answered.

“So you’re saying it can’t be traced by magic, but it _can_ be traced by invention?”

Loki frowned. “No, that isn’t even remotely close to what I was saying…but…it could work…” The frown faded from the god’s face, morphing into a pleasantly surprised _(and more than a little mischievous)_ grin.

“Fantastic,” Tony replied with a grin of his own.

“Does your father-” Loki began, but Tony cut him off.

“Howard isn’t the only one with a mind of his own, you know,” he pointed out _(as if Loki didn’t already know this; maybe he just_ chose _not to)_ , good mood gone as soon as Howard came up _(he seemed to be the topic of_ everyone’s _conversations these days)_.

“I am aware, yes,” the asshole said in that cool, debonair voice of his.   
Perhaps that salad would blow up anyways.

“And,” Tony continued as if he hadn’t even spoken. “He’s not _always_ the genius behind Stark Industries.”

That earned him a delicately raised brow.

“Are you trying to say that there is another creator behind these inventions?” the god said slowly, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. Typical. Tony Stark wasn’t exactly the epitome for genius creations or hopeful belief or whatever shit it was his people _(Howard’s people, really)_ said about their “light and savior, the King” _._

“Surprised? Honestly, you shouldn’t be. One person can’t come up with all the shit he claims to have come up with, and threatens _others_ to stay quiet about,” Tony said bitterly, in a way that he knew Loki would know just who those ‘others’ were.

“More….reluctantly intrigued,” Loki replied, leaning forward a bit in his chair, head cocked to the side.   
It was about then that their meals came, Tony’s smelling just as delicious as it always did, effectively shutting down any sort of conversation they might’ve had on the matter at hand….or any other matter, really.

It was with the same silence as before that they ate their meals, only stopping to drink and _(more than once)_ ask for another bottle of wine; they sampled multiple different bottles before the night was over, none of which Tony could actually remember the names of _(French…they were all French for fuck’s sake)_.   
No salad was blown into anyone’s faces before the night was over. Actually… _nothing_ blew up before the night was over, and that in itself was a record Tony had never planned on breaking.

He was sporting a pleasant buzz by the time they’d walked out the door; pleasant enough that he forgot why he was with Loki or who the hell Loki even was; pleasant enough that he forgot telling Loki of his suicide attempt a few months back and how it was with the ragged edge of the shattered whiskey bottle Howard had thrown at him earlier that night.   
Loki had replied as anyone would have _(or at least, Tony thought he did; details were still a bit hazy)_ , minus the shock and outrage with an addition of cool calm.

“Why?”

Tony was fairly certain he’d said something along the lines of “because he was angry” or maybe “because he was drunk”. Something that would _(hopefully)_ explain Howard’s outbreak that would keep the king’s appearance so he didn’t have Tony drawn and quartered or some shit like that _(because really, he didn’t doubt Howard would do something like that)_.  

And Loki had said something like, “Oh, alright,” as if he had been expecting something else…perhaps something worse. Probably something that would blame Tony for whatever happened because that’s all anyone did these days…blamed the naïve prince who lost his mother and sympathized for the Great King who lost his wife.

The last thing Tony remembered was Loki leading him to his castle _(yeah, Howard wanted a castle and as Tony still lived with him, here they were)_ and up to his room, somehow managing to bypass the guards first at the gates, and then at the doors without so much as speaking a word _(Tony would figure out how he did that later)_ and while Tony thought he caught a glimpse of green during those times, he couldn’t be sure.   
And then Loki was carefully pulling Tony’s jacket from his shoulders and suddenly Tony was lying on something soft and his shoes were gone _(had someone stolen them?)_ and a cuddly blanket was being pulled to his chest.

As it was, he also forgot about the cold, gentle fingers that had delicately brushed the locks of hair from his forehead, right before a flash of green and the disappearing of the god who made him pay for dinner.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! Hope you guys like!


	3. (Invisible) Visiting Rights

As soon as he’d left the young prince’s room, he got himself a nice chalice of Asgardian mead; Midgardian wine wasn’t nearly strong enough to give him the buzz he so craved before he would have to speak with father. To be honest, Loki wasn’t entirely sure _what_ the AllFather wished to speak with him about. He’d simply sent a messenger to Loki’s chambers to request _(demand)_ his presence in the throne room when he so pleased _(also meaning “as soon as you’re decent because I think you might’ve done something to that Midgardian that I do not wish to know of”)_.   
He finished off the warm golden liquid, feeling the tension seep from his aching back and his head get just a bit lighter, his tongue just a bit looser; the perfect way to speak with the King of Asgard, while tipsy and languid.

Strolling into the throne room, he bowed as deeply as his alcohol hazed mind would allow him, which really wasn’t that far at all, before straightening.

“You wished to see me, father?” he asked, hands folding neatly behind his back, the fingers of his left hand clasping his right wrist.

The AllFather nodded. “I did, yes. I wished to speak to you about the joining of you and this Midgardian.”

Oh joy. “Of course, father,” he said, inclining his head politely.

The king nodded before continuing. “I do hope you understand that this marriage is so we can complete our alliance with Midgard and nothing more. I do not want you to grow attached to this mortal. You will outlive him by millennia; if you were to grow to care for this mortal, you would not withstand his death and would no longer be able to perform your duty as Prince of Asgard. Once Jotunhiem is defeated, we will cut all ties with Midgard and you will remain here. Is that understood?” By the nine, his father was speaking to him as if he were five.

“Of course, father,” he replied sweetly. “Is that all?”   
His father nodded a single time and then waved a hand, as if Loki was a fly and he was shooing him away. Loki’s eyes narrowed before he let out a soft sigh and bowed once more before taking his leave. Good lord, if he had to be around anymore Asgardian royals, he was going to blow something _(or someone)_ up. Perhaps he could go see Anthony’s workshop while the boy was asleep. Mm, yes, that sounded wonderful. Maybe Loki could even color everything green. That would surely give the boy something to whine about. With one last smile, Loki vanished, teleporting himself to the boy’s workshop, hand raised to call up an orb of light to light the workshop-  
-only to see that it was already bright in the room.

Anthony was hunched over one of his worktables, a quarter empty bottle of amber liquid _(scotch, maybe?)_ sitting at the edge of the table, scribbling away at a piece of paper _(well, multiple pieces, it would seem)_ , a dozen or so more filled and lying carelessly on the table, one of the pages even on the floor.   
Cloaking himself, Loki moved forward and peered over the boy’s shoulder, watching him scribble numbers and letters and pictures down onto the page, crossing out and rewriting, throwing out and starting anew.   
The boy did this half a dozen times, and every time Loki watched; it was mesmerizing, watching him put together all this. He had an air of intelligence about him now that Loki hadn’t noticed before; Anthony couldn’t seem to get out what he was thinking, and while it clearly frustrated him, he continued working, eyes never leaving his work, mind working too fast for his fingers to be able to write it; it was as if Loki could see the knowledge in his eyes, see that he had something to say but was having trouble saying it. It was almost breathtaking; the way he ruined what he’d spent forty five minutes or an hour working on like it was nothing.

Finally moving his eyes from the boy, unsure as to how long he’d been watching, Loki let his gaze wander round the lab and found it just as breathtaking as the boy; holograms floated around the room, giving light where there wouldn’t be any if they hadn’t been there; old and new cars alike _(all gorgeous, Loki had to admit)_ lined one of the walls, and- _oh_ , what were those beautiful things?   
Suits of armor, varying colors from silver to red accented with gold, sat in glass chambers in a semi-circle against the opposite wall as the vehicles, a large circular platform just in front of the glass cases, the curve of the circle matching that of the half circle.

Before Loki could explore further, an older man, balding in a sharp black and white suit with a powerful yet submissive air about him, wandered in the door, bowing to Anthony when he reached him, startling the boy from his trance.

“Prince Tony,” the man began in an English accent just as sharp as his suit, but Anthony cut him off with a smile and a hint of amusement, as if he’d said it countless times before.

“I told you, Jarvis; it’s just Tony.”

The older man returned the smile. “Of course, Tony. Your father called me and informed me that he would be home soon and wished to see your design for the Alpha Mark III.”

Anthony groaned and dropped his head onto the arms he’d folded onto the table. Loki regarded the man as his brow furrowed in worry before smoothing out as he put a hand on the young prince’s back in a soothing manner; he had a very father-like esque to him that was hard to miss.  

“You’ve been drinking again,” the man, Jarvis, said softly.

“I have, yeah,” Anthony replied with a careless shrug, lifting his head once more. “You’d better go before Howard gets back; you know he hates it when you’re down here.” Ah, so Anthony cared about this man in the same way the man cared for him…interesting.

The man smiled warmly. “Why do you think I come down here?” And then winked.

“I like to think it’s because of my charming self,” Anthony replied.

“Ah, my dear boy, you think too highly of yourself.”   
Anthony let out a snort and shoved the man’s shoulder lightly.

“Go, before he gets home.”

“Alright, I’m going. Be careful not to drink too much, Tony.” And with that, the man was spinning on his heel and walking from the room, shaking his head fondly when Anthony threw a crumpled ball of paper at the back of his head.

“Goodnight, Jarvis,” Anthony called as he got back to work.

“Goodnight, Tony.” And then the man was gone.   
Loki wondered for a moment why anyone was up at this hour _(he was fairly certain it was three in the morning here in Midgard)_ , but he figured that Anthony liked to stay up and work. He also assumed that Jarvis was the servant _(they preferred ‘butler’ here, however)_ and would have to wait until King Howard returned home to retire to his quarters for the night.

He frowned at the boy as he rushed to get back to whatever it was that he was working on _(the Alpha Mark III, whatever that was)_ , moving faster than before to finish. Was the prospect of his father coming home so terrifying that it had the boy exhausting himself to finish something that King Howard supposedly created?   
Loki watched, remaining shrouded in the shadows of the dimly lit workshop, waiting patiently _(or maybe not so patiently)_ for King Howard to return so Loki could see what all the fuss was about.   
He didn’t have to wait long.

“Anthony!” a voice yelled before the king appeared in the doorway, looking down his nose at his son, a bottle of Midgardian alcohol held tightly within his grasp.

“What?” Anthony asked, not even bothering to turn his head, let alone his eyes, to his father. Odd.

“Did you finish yet?” Oh, already so much different from the King Howard that Midgard _(and every other realm out there)_ knew and loved.   
Loki barely saw it, the flicker of fear in the boy’s eyes before he shook his head.

“No, I didn’t. Not yet. I’ll finish it tonight….” But the boy didn’t get much further than that…didn’t get the chance, really. Howard’s eyes narrowed and he hurled the bottle at the boy without preamble, shattering it against the metal of the table, spraying glass and amber liquid across Anthony and his work.   
Anthony shielded his face with his arms, scrambling away from his worktable.   
Small shards of glass sunk into his forearms and hands, crimson drops welling on his face where he’d been cut by wayward shards. He rushed forward, attempting to swipe the glass away with the palms of his bare hands, trying to save what he’d been working so hard on. It was a useless attempt, and Loki had never wanted to pummel anyone more than he did the King of Midgard in that moment.

“You,” Howard hissed at his boy, grabbing Anthony’s chin in his strong hand _(the same hand that held an entire realms lives in its palm)_ , fingers digging into the soft flesh of Anthony’s cheeks. “You should’ve had this done _hours_ ago.”

“But we didn’t get home ‘til-”

“ _Silence!_ ” Howard screeched, backhanding the boy hard enough to send him to the ground, clutching at his head dizzily. “You will not rest until this project is finished; I want the prototype built, not just the blueprints. And you _will_ finish.” And with that, the king was disappearing back up the stairs, leaving behind a bleeding and hurting Anthony, who was just pulling himself to his feet.   
Loki glared after the king as if it would do even a semblance of good.   
No matter who the person was, _no one_ was allowed to treat their child that way. Even if Loki didn’t particularly like said child.   
But there was nothing Loki could do; this was not his place, not his fight. Howard showed his dominance not only in battle and in his rulings, but in his own home- the place a king should’ve let all anger go instead of letting it all out _(quite explosively)_. If anything of what Loki had seen of the blueprints was what Howard had truly been hoping would be finished, then he would _have_ to understand the boy needed time; most of what Loki had seen he hadn’t even been able to _comprehend_.

The thing that Loki really couldn’t understand, however, was why Anthony hadn’t told his father that it had been Loki’s fault they’d been so late. It would’ve been the smart thing to do, blame the Prince of Asgard- he could’ve gotten himself out of whatever hole he’d been shoved into and saved himself from the punishment. Instead Anthony chose to allow Howard to hurt him so that….what? He could protect Loki? Save him from the wrath of one of the most powerful dictators this era had ever seen? And a dictator Howard was- manipulative, verbose; he had everyone eating from the palm of his hand as he secretly went about abusing his son and claiming products that weren’t his at all; as he planned the complete desolation of an entire race _(an entire_ world _)_ behind his people’s backs.

Turning his focus back to the boy, he saw Anthony staring down at his papers in exhausted defeat before the boy squared his shoulders, put on a brave face and swiped everything from the worktable onto the floor, getting a fresh stack of paper and multiple sharpened pencils to begin again. And begin he did, working in furious silence, wide eyes focused exclusively on the paper and his fingers controlling the quickly moving pencil.

Loki watched the boy overwork himself for another half an hour before shaking his head and tsking to himself as he teleported away from the mess Anthony had become.    
He couldn’t blame the boy, not really; as it was, Anthony had been trapped beneath Howard’s abusive control for the entirety of his young life _(still was, in most ways)_.

Shaking his head, Loki made his way into his bathing quarters, drawing himself a bath and letting the heat of it relax his aching muscles; it had been a long, tiring day and he wished for nothing more than to finish out his bath and to crawl into the large bed that had been calling for him for hours now. He washed his hair and body with the fresh scented soap before rinsing and taking a few moments to soak before letting the water down the drain. Getting out of the bath, he simply waved a hand and dried himself magically, dressing in sleep attire in the same fashion even as he walked to his bed and crawled beneath the golden, deliciously warm sheets, drawing the emerald coverlet over himself as well.

He drifted off to sleep with Anthony still on his mind, promising himself he would help Anthony in whatever way he could to get the independence the wayward prince so desperately needed from his father. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. Howard's a dick. I'm sorry. I make characters I hate major assholes...it's how I work and I've read too many fic's where Howard is a complete and utter asshole who needs to die a painful death


	4. Meet the Parents (Parent, whatever)

It took Tony the rest of the night and well into the next morning to finish the Alpha Mark III prototype. The blueprints hadn’t come easily, but then, they never did when he was sleep deprived and almost drunk _(which was a lot these days, if he were honest)_.   
He got Dummy to clean up the mess of shattered glass _(and puddles of alcohol)_ , broken pencils and crumpled paper as he worked, and Butterfingers brought him coffee with a finger of whiskey stirred in the fourth time he nearly face planted into the table.   
When he was sure it was as perfect as it possibly could be, he scribbled a note to Howard and stuck it to the Alpha before picking up the thing and hauling it to Howard’s lab, which was just down the hall from Tony’s. Howard was out doing something for rich snobs that Tony didn’t care enough to remember the names of since he was planning to sleep his whole day away anyways. As Loki hadn’t shown up to take him to brunch or tea or to hunt down and kill a boar or whatever the hell it was they did in Asgard, he was pretty sure he could do just that. Jarvis was off doing god knows what for god knows who, somewhere in the house _(castle)_ in some room that Tony probably didn’t even know existed.   
He basically had the house to himself now, and that was exactly what he needed. He locked himself in his room and barely had his boots kicked off before collapsing into bed atop the covers, clothes and all; he was out as soon as his head touched the pillow, deep in a terror filled sleep.

*

What felt like seconds later but had to have been at least four hours, judging by the sun that was currently doing it’s damndest to blind him, he was being shaken awake by gentle fingers carding though his hair.   
He blinked through the fogginess in his brain from sleep, feeling his hair stick to his forehead with sweat, and found himself staring at a leather clad thigh. Blinking, he moved his gaze up along the black and gold tunic, along the emerald mantle and to the rather handsome face angled down at him with a perfectly arched brow.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bambi?” Tony asked, sitting up just a bit too fast, making the room spin and his stomach lurch. Oh god, hangover…he needed a trashcan otherwise Loki would end up with a lapful of reappearing alcohol. Tony scrambled up and away from the god, slamming to his knees in the bathroom and not even noticing the dull throb as they hit the cold tile of the floor. He heaved painfully into the toilet and groaned when his stomach finally stopped trying to turn itself inside out, resting his aching head on the cool porcelain of the toilet.

“That seemed….pleasant,” that elegant voice drawled from the doorway. Tony didn’t even raise his head as he spoke.

“Fuck off, asshole. Let me wallow in misery alone.”  
A chuckle and then the near silent sound of Loki’s boots on the gleaming white tile, and then silence again as the god knelt beside him. Loki tapped Tony’s cheek until Tony raised his head to glare half heartedly at him but found himself glaring at a goblet with clear, bubbly liquid instead.

“Drink. It will help. I cannot have you too hung over to balance while we are riding today.” And then the cup was being pressed against his lips and tipped into his mouth. He gagged and sputtered against the too sweet tang of it; god, it was like eating a ladleful of honey and it only made the room spin more and Tony just wanted to vomit against the awful spinning that was…fading along with the headache and nausea.   
Tony sat up carefully and was pleasantly surprised to see there was no longer two of everything- God, two Loki’s would mean an imminent death of disproportional sizes and wait- _riding?_

“Riding?” Tony voiced, blinking up at Loki, who was standing once more.   
That brow arched again, the epitome of “are you stupid?”.

“Yes, Anthony. You _have_ heard of horses, haven’t you?”

Tony narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Loki. You _have_ heard of cars, haven’t you?” he mocked, scowling up at the god.

Loki snorted. “Come now, get yourself ready. I would like to be back before dinner, if at all possible.” And then Loki was whisking out the door and planting his princely ass on the edge of Tony’s bed, long legs crossed like some Victorian princess.   
Tony shook his head and grabbed some clothes from his closet, not really paying attention to what it was, before moving into the bathroom and closing the door pointedly to Loki’s curious gaze, ignoring the annoyed huff that followed.   
He quickly undressed and turned on the water, stepping under the hot spray, moaning like a whore as the warmth eased the ache in his muscles that the magical soda didn’t.   
And okay, so if he stayed in there twenty minutes longer than he usually did _(with the sole purpose of pissing the stuck up prince off)_ , no one had to know.

He finally stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel loosely around his hips and passing a hand over the steam covered mirror, gazing at his foggy reflection- the arc reactor glowed brightly, and Tony silently hoped he’d grabbed a shirt dark enough to cover the glow.   
Fortunately, he did.

Dressed in dark jeans, a long sleeve under his favorite _Black Sabbath_ tee shirt and running a towel through his hair, he stepped out of the bathroom to find Loki in the exact same position with the addition of Dummy at his side, clinging to the god’s shirt.   
Loki did not look amused.

“What is this _thing_ and _what_ in the nine is it doing?” Loki demanded, glaring at the bot, who chirped happily in response.

Tony snorted. “That _thing_ is a robot that I built- his name is Dummy- and _he_ decided that he likes you.”

“Well, get him _off_ ,” the god hissed, turning his glare to Tony instead.

“Ah-ah-ah,” Tony said with a sweet smile. “How do you ask?”

Through clenched teeth, the god growled, “ _Please_ get this atrocity _off of me_.” With a grin, Tony crooked his fingers and the bot cheerfully released Loki’s shirt and came over to Tony.   
Loki scowled after Dummy, distaste clear in his eyes with something…something that almost looked _fond_. Why was Loki looking at something _(something Tony had built, no less)_ he’d just called an atrocity _fondly_?

Shaking his head, Tony found a pair of socks and his boots, slipping both on and lacing his boots before straightening to find Loki already standing with a hand extended to Tony.   
Tony scowled at said hand, pointedly crossing his arms over his chest and Loki simply smirked before settling his hands on Tony’s shoulders and suddenly all the air was punched from Tony’s lungs and colors were swirling around him in a sickening display of what looked like stars and fuck if he knew what else.   
When solid ground was back beneath his feet, he stumbled and would’ve fallen if not for the strong hands that held him upright.

“A little warning would’ve been nice. Maybe a “close your eyes or you’ll vomit”?” Tony glared up at the god who was looking down with an amused smirk _(and Tony really wanted to punch that smirk off the god’s handsome face, but he was pretty sure he’d break his hand so it would be pointless)_.

“Be honest, Stark. Would you have heeded it if I’d given it?”   
And okay, he had a point there.

“Depends; would you have given it if you knew I would?” Tony threw back, not one to be shot down so easily.   
Loki huffed a startled laugh, his smile wide and genuine _(likely the first real smile Tony had gotten from him)_ , so Tony counted it as a win.

They were standing on the Einstein-Rosen Bridge _(though they called it the Rainbow Bridge, so basically a bridge for gay pride)_ , where two horses were standing tall and proud, one jet black and the other pure white, both magnificent creatures that Tony wanted to shoved off the bridge if only to get out of having to ride one.

“Why do you hate me?” Tony asked, glaring at the horses like he might be able to make them vanish if he did it hard enough _(hey, he could dream)_.

Loki snorted. “I do not hate you, Stark. I simply wished to go riding, and would rather not go alone. As Thor is off on some hunting trip or another, the only person I could think to ask was you. Mother certainly wouldn’t wish to go, and unless your ‘Dummy’ is programmed to ride horses, you are the only option.”

“Wait, you considered a _robot_ before me?” He placed a hand over his heart and gasped. “I’m hurt!”

“Come now, you’re changing the subject. You aren’t scared, are you?” There was a mocking tone to Loki’s voice that Tony _so_ was not going to let the god get away with.

“Scared of what?”

“Well, you _are_ going to be riding a horse next to a _god_ who’s been riding horses a thousand years longer than you’ve been alive. So, I ask again simply because you chose not to answer; are you scared?”

Tony grinned. “Terrified…mortified…petrified…stupefied by you!” When the god just gazed at him blankly _(still managing to be judgmental, however, because Loki was really good at that “I’m judging you but silently so you don’t know”)_ , Tony gaped for a solid seventeen seconds. “I just…I just quoted one of the _best_ movies that was ever made and you…oh Jesus, Lord save me. I’m going to have to educate you on the grandeur of Pop Culture.”

Loki blinked at him. “Sounds _marvelous_ ,” he drawled, rolling his eyes for effect _(or maybe just to show Tony how distinctly_ not _marvelous it sounded)_. Okay, so this had grown very awkward very fast _(honestly, who hadn’t seen_ A Beautiful Mind _? It was incredible)_ and someone really needed to say something to dispel the silence that had fallen between them. Did he already mention it was really _awkward_ silence?

“Sooo…” He drawled. “Horses?”  

*

Tony Stark can build devices that block magic _(something that shouldn’t even exist)_. He can build bombs in under five minutes with just his cell phone. Hell, he’d even built a portal that could take him to _other worlds_.   
But Tony Stark cannot ride a god damn horse.  
Oh no, he’d managed to fall off seven times in the two hours they were out riding, nearly got himself trampled by _his own horse_ once, and had hit his head on low hanging tree branches _twice_ and his ass hurt and his back hurt and his forehead hurt and he was just so fucking _done_ that it was a miracle he didn’t get off his horse and try to walk off of Asgard and back to Midgard.   
_Loki_ had nearly fallen off his horse from laughing so hard. God, Tony hoped Loki choked on his own tongue.

“Oh, stop your pouting,” Loki said as they walked out of the stables after having returned their horses to them, an amused tone to his voice. Tony just crossed his arms tighter across his chest and scowled down at the ground, like maybe it would open up and eat him if he glared hard enough.   
“Honestly, Stark. You cannot be good at _everything_ , and I am getting sick of your foul mood. Come now, we shall dine and then I will return you home.”

“How ‘bout you take me home and then _you_ dine. Here. Alone. Without me.” And then Tony went back to…sulking _(because dammit, he wasn’t pouting!)_.   
Loki just laughed and threaded his arm through Tony’s, a mischievous glint in his eyes that Tony _really_ didn’t like.

“Ooh, how about a compromise? You will have _me_ for supper instead. We can both have what we want; you will be in your home and I will get my supper with you.” But, it seemed Loki had already decided this was what was happening because suddenly they were in Tony’s house, back in his bedroom.

“Mm, how ‘bout no?” he asked hopelessly because yeah, this was _definitely_ happening, whether he liked it or not.

“Come now, Stark. Don’t be so pessimistic.”

“I’m just not ready for you to meet the parent,” Tony replied with a shrug.

“I have already met King Howard,” Loki said, sounding _(and looking)_ extremely unimpressed.

“Howard and _King_ Howard are two very different people, Loki,” Tony shot back before wandering over to his mini bar and getting himself a nice bottle of whiskey, not bothering to check what it was first, knowing damn well he was going to need a whole helluva lot more than this to survive the night _(God, Loki and Howard in the same place as_ Tony _….this was going to be a long night)_.   
Loki raised a brow but chose not to comment, instead reaching out and taking the bottle from Tony’s hands, examining what it was before huffing and handing it back.

“You do realize this is an $80,000 bottle of whiskey, yes? And that you are drinking it in the most inelegant way you could possible manage?” Loki asked, staring at Tony as Tony brought the bottle to his lips and took another drink.

“Of course I do. _I_ bought it.”   
He took another drink.

By the time Howard returned home _(nearly an hour later…or maybe two hours. Three?)_ , Tony was sporting a pleasant buzz that couldn’t be ruined even by the reappearance of the Great King Howard.   
Howard stopped dead when he saw Loki sprawled elegantly in one of the velvet covered chairs at the dinner table _(much too large for the two people left in the Stark family)_ and Tony sitting across from him cradling a glass of Macallan 1926, much closer to the head of the table _(and therefore closer to Howard)_ than usual _(Loki had vanished all other chairs and when Tony had announced he would rather sit on the ground than anywhere near Howard, the god threatened to dye Tony’s hair red. Tony chose the chair)_.

Howard looked between Loki and Tony, suspicion in his eyes, but before he could comment Jarvis was coming out with the food, settling it on the table in such an orderly and timely fashion that Tony could’ve sworn the butler _(and best friend)_ was magic.   
It wasn’t until Jarvis was gone and the delicious smell of steak and potatoes _(and corn because Jarvis insisted they needed a vegetable)_ was wafting through the air that Howard spoke, voice stiff and overly-polite.

“I’ll admit, I hadn’t expected to see you here, Prince Loki.”   
Tony felt nausea churn in his stomach, and, amazing as it was, the smell wasn’t helping. God, he could feel a migraine building in his temples and behind his eyes. Just what he needed right now.

“It was quite sudden,” Loki said with an easy smile. “I will admit, I didn’t quite expect Anthony to invite me over.” Oh, the bastard.

“Don’t worry,” Tony threw in carelessly. “I didn’t expect me to invite you over either.” The glare Howard shot him was withering, promising repercussions later. Fan-fucking-tastic.   
Loki just laughed, but Tony had heard laughs like that before _(mostly from himself)_. Forced and faked, finding no real amusement but pretending to anyways. And the smile. Yeah, Tony had seen it on himself in the mirror. Just like the fucking _Mona Lisa_.    
The meal began in silence a few moments later, broken only by the quiet chink of silverware against the plates or the soft clink of the ice in Tony’s drink against the glass.   
The ache in his head suddenly rocketed up a notch and Tony winced, head angled down so he didn’t have to look at the others _(or be seen by them)_ , but he could feel Loki’s eyes boring into him from across the table.   
He swallowed down his next bite of steak, pretending he didn’t know that it would likely come right back up again if he was able to escape these two. Or maybe it would do a reappearing act right here. Wouldn’t Howard be happy with a lapful of steak and stomach acid and the Prince of Ass-gard watching him panic about it? Hm…maybe Tony should. That would be a sight. But then, the consequences for something like that would probably be much worse than anything Tony could even pretend to think of _(and he had a wild imagination, really)_.   
Okay, thinking, bad. The ache had turned into a full on throb and it was _so_ not okay.   
What he really wanted now was a massage, a cold compress and to be able to sleep for a week or maybe three.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled and stood quickly, hoping nobody noticed his swaying because _dammit_ the room would not _sit still_.   
He quickly made his way to his bedroom, knowing their eyes followed him as he went, and slammed the door shut, finding his pain meds and shaking one of the large white pills into his hand, swallowing it dry before collapsing on his bed and curling up, trying to keep the contents of his stomach _in_ his stomach, eyes squeezed shut so he wouldn’t have to see the room spin any longer because that was definitely not helping his few bites of steak stay where they were.   
He could hear Howard and Loki talking about whatever, not quite enough to make out words, just the gentle drone of their voices and this was what he fell asleep to nearly an hour later, unable to keep his eyes open any longer. Maybe when he woke this would all be over….

*

It was not, in fact, all over, nor was it a bad dream.   
He woke when his bed dipped and low and behold, there sat Loki.

“Why are you here, Bambi?” Tony mumbled, cracking an eye open and gazing at the god blearily.

“Keeping watch,” Loki replied, his gaze soft and his voice gentle. “Go back to sleep, Anthony.”   
Unable to figure out what the new use of his name meant, Tony closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, this is the longest chapter yet. Hope you like!


	5. Time For A Wedding!

The day of the wedding came about as quickly as could have been expected, but for the trickster, it couldn’t have come soon enough.   
He would never admit to being slightly _(very)_ excited about marrying the insufferable mortal. There was something about Anthony, however, that Loki simply could not deny. Perhaps it was the boy’s intelligence or sharp tongue _(the Norns know those are qualities Loki likes more than anything else)_ , or maybe even his aptitude for creating. It was _not_ , however, the boy himself. No. It most definitely was not.

 _Liar_ , that incessantly annoying voice in his mind whispered.

 _Hush_.

By the nine, there must be something wrong if a conversation with himself constituted as normal.   
Shaking his head, he lost himself in thought once more as his mother continued fussing over him.

He hadn’t known what he’d been thinking, really, admitting to the wayward prince that he had been keeping watch. There had been a million lies ready on his silver tongue, but he’d given naught. He’d allowed the throes of truth to slip from his lips as if what he’d done was _normal_. As if he’d ever let himself become so captivated _(which he most certainly was not)_ by a mortal _(or anyone, for that matter)_.   
Of course, forcing Anthony to have supper with not only his future husband _(who Anthony didn’t seem to like much)_ but his much hated father as well…perhaps it had been cruel, yes, but Loki had gained what he’d needed. He now understood _(partially)_ why Anthony hated his father so much and yes, the boy had been correct in stating Howard and _King_ Howard were two completely different people. Howard had done nothing but complain about his “pathetic, useless idiot of a son” as if he hadn’t forced the exhausted boy past his limits to create something Howard himself had been unable to.   
So yes, Loki had given himself up to the boy, even if Anthony still proved to be intolerable and just as annoying as the voice in Loki’s mind calling out his lies before they were fully formed.

“Turn,” mother said softly, breaking him from his thoughts rather abruptly.   
Loki did as told and found himself facing a mirror. He also found himself breathless from the sheer beauty of the garb he now wore.   
He wore a simple black tunic, laced at the collar and black leather pants, comfortable enough to dance in when the time came. A long, black coat was pulled on over it, framing his throat with a high collar, gold trimming its edges and forming the buttons at his wrists. To complete the look, he wore knee high boots laced with delicate golden thread at his calves, and an emerald mantle was thrown over his shoulders, clasped at his throat with a small golden charm, the silken fabric pooling at his feet.   
He could only hope that Anthony wore something acceptable; Norns know that the boy would wear jeans and an oil stained tee shirt if he so wished it.

“It’s lovely, mother,” he said as he turned to face her, taking her hands and kissing her cheek as she beamed at him. “Thank you.”

“Oh, do not thank me, my son,” Mother said with a gentle smile as she kissed his cheek. “Now, I believe it is time. Do not be too harsh on the boy if he is nervous; he is quite young, you know,” she continued, flattening her palms down the front of his tunic, smoothing it out.

“Don’t worry, mother. I will be kind,” Loki replied with a smile quirking the corners of his lips.

“It is not your kindness I worry about, my son, but rather your attempts to hide that you have any at all.” She hurried him out the doors after that, not allowing him any time to answer.

Gazing around, he was immediately distracted by the dizzying amount of people that had gathered, mortal and Asgardian alike. Most of these people he’d never even met. Odin, of course, sat in his throne where he would bless the marriage, and mother hurried to take her place at his side. Howard stood at Odin’s other side, standing as tall as ever, gazing down his nose at anyone who dared set their eyes upon him.   
And just before them stood Anthony, looking absolutely breathtaking in his own wedding garb; he wore deep reds and shimmering gold’s, looking gorgeously like the prince Howard always seemed to forget he was.   
As Loki walked into the decorated hall, silence fell throughout the room of chattering mortals and god’s alike.

Everything after that passed by in a blur; he didn’t even remember his own vows, nor did he remember Anthony’s. Dancing came and went, people he didn’t care enough to get to know came and shook his hand, while other’s bowed.   
At some point, while Loki was talking to someone who claimed to be rather important in Midgard, he noticed that Anthony was nowhere in sight and hadn’t been for quite some time.   
Stopping the man from his rambling story with a quickly muttered apology and a wave of his hand, Loki wandered about until he realized just where Anthony might be.

The tree looked absolutely beautiful beneath the stars, the moon shadowing it in gentle light, the low hanging branches swaying in the soft night wind.   
And hidden safely behind those branches sat Anthony, the device he’d made to create portals sitting next to him on the soft grass. The boy was shadowed, slivers of moonlight lighting his features just enough to make out his silhouette.

“Anthony?” Loki asked softly, planting himself on the ground beside the boy. When the boy didn’t answer, Loki gently pressed two fingers beneath Anthony’s chin, tilting the boy’s head towards him so he could see. The boy flinched when Loki touched him, but didn’t pull away.   
It was Loki who flinched next, seeing the deep gash marring the boy’s brow, blood tracing a lazy trail down Anthony’s face, dripping off his chin and onto the fabric of his pants.

“What happened?” he asked quietly as he took the end of Anthony’s tie and pressed it to the wound.

“I tripped,” the boy tried lamely. Loki tutted softly.

“Never lie to the God of Lies,” he replied, more care in his voice than he would ever admit to having felt _(because no, he did not care. This was an arranged marriage and nothing more)_.   
A deep sigh followed, and soon Anthony spoke.

“Howard was angry that I wasn’t more…enthused about tonight’s events.”

“And he….hit you?” Loki asked, feeling burning rage boil in his gut.

“No.” Anthony shook his head. “He threw his glass at me.”   
That rage grew hotter, a fiery inferno of anger and sympathy, neither of which he was used to feeling so strongly.

“Perhaps you ought to throw _yours_ at _him_ next time,” Loki suggested lamely. The Silvertongue, lost for words. What a story that would make.   
True, Odin wasn’t a good father by any means, but he had never, not once, laid a hand _(or glass)_ on either of his sons’. That was something looked down upon, a universal understanding that it was simply not okay, for gods and humans alike.

“Seems Howard didn’t get the memo,” Anthony spat bitterly, and Loki realized belatedly that he’d said that aloud.

“It would seem he did not,” Loki replied softly, but spoke no more in fear of making the situation worse than it already was _(as if that was possible)_.   
No, instead of using his silver tongue as he was meant to do, he wound an arm around Anthony’s shoulders and pulled the trembling body to his chest, comforting where his words had failed him.

“What are you doing, Loki?” Anthony asked, but his voice was tired, resigned. It was not happy and joyful, as it should be on his wedding day.

“Comforting?” Loki tried, gazing down at the boy though his unruly dark locks.

“Nice try. I’ll take it.” And the boy settled back into his side like they hadn’t spent the past weeks making each other mad. Like they’d been asked about this marriage. Like they’d had a choice: an option to say yes, or no.

It took Loki longer than it should have to realize that Anthony had called him by his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. It's late. It's short. It's not my best work. In general, I'm sorry for the crappy quality of this chapter.   
> I don't have any excuses, other than the fact that I didn't know what to write. This was supposed to be longer and it wasn't and I'm sorry. But it IS something, and I promise that next weeks chapter will be longer. Really, all you need to know is that they got married. That's it. I added a little marital bonding in there but...that's about it. All in all, this wasn't the most important chapter, but it needed to be written and posted to better the story


	6. Home

Tony tried not to think his meltdown last night, or the cuddling that had followed. God, just the thought of Loki being so close made him shudder _(definitely not because of the feeling of the god pressed so close; nope, nuh-uh)_.

No, he had other things to focus on. Things like convincing Loki to stay with him on Midgard instead of Loki dragging Tony all the way up to Asgard. Gods, if Tony had to live in Asgard…now that would be a nightmare. He’d blow up everything he could find until Loki got tired of him and stuck him back on Midgard with a polka-dotted handkerchief on a stick.

He _was_ currently pouting, however, because Loki seemed set on dragging Tony by his hair up to Asgard if he didn’t come willingly.

“Stark, you’re making this _much_ more difficult than it needs to be. We are going to Asgard. As I am the oldest in this relationship, I will be making the decisions, and I have decided we are going to live in Asgard,” Loki said, looking down his nose at Tony.

_Oh, so we’re back to Stark?_

“Oldest?” Tony scoffed. “We’re not arguing over the TV remote, Bambi.” He shook his head. “Besides, genius beats age anyways.”

“I am a _god_ ,” Loki reminded him, as if Tony had somehow forgotten in the last five minutes since the trickster had last tried to use that as an argument.

“I am a _genius_ ,” Tony replied with a shrug. “Your point?”   
With an exasperated huff, Loki pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes, shaking his head as if to say “I am surrounded by idiots”.

“How about a compromise?” Loki asked, finally glancing up.

“How can we compromise when you live on a different world?” Tony asked in his best “are you stupid” voice.  
Loki was quiet for a moment as he thought, while Tony watched him expectantly.

“How about we spend one month in Asgard and then one month here, and so on and so forth until we truly figure this out?”   
Tony thought about it for a moment, and almost decided to argue just for the sake of arguing, but the god _did_ have a good point…

“Alright, sounds like a plan. But I get a lab in both houses.”

Loki pulled up a tight smile and nodded. “That can be arranged, yes.”

*

As it turned out, picking a house in Asgard was both fun and easy.   
They all had the same style, the same furnishings and set up. Really, the only differences were size and room numbers.   
They ended up settling on a large castle type thing with six bedrooms all containing their own bathrooms, a large kitchen area and an even larger space downstairs Tony could turn into his lab.   
Loki insisted they have a work-out room _(a “sparring room”, the god called it)_ , but there was plenty of room for that as well.   
Then came the issue of colorings.   
Loki wanted green _(“emerald, you imbecile!”)_ and Tony, of course, wanted red. They couldn’t do both because it would look like fucking Christmas all year round, and they couldn’t do one otherwise there would always be someone unhappy.   
And they couldn’t _mix_ the colors either otherwise they’d have a terrible brown color. And here compromise rears its ugly head _yet again_.   
In the end, they settled on a deep royal purple: it would go well enough with the gold’s and silvers they had throughout their home _(Jesus fuck, they had a home_ together _and it was_ theirs _)_. Of course, this wasn’t enough so they decided Loki would decorate their bedroom however he wanted and Tony could decorate the lab however _he_ wanted, so really, everything worked out for everyone.   
Of course, they stayed that night together in their new castle _(Tony slept on the large leather couch, while Loki slept on the bed)_. Tony was fairly certain if he’d gone home that night without his new husband, Howard would’ve kicked him out anyways.

*

The house on Midgard was a bit more difficult to find; the homes were so different, ranging from castles to cabins.   
Tony ended up just taking Loki to the Malibu home he’d bought however long ago _(but never gotten to use because god forbid he be out of Howard’s reach)_.   
The trickster decided that yes, the huge white mansion sitting alone on the edge of a cliff that fell to the ocean was _acceptable_ and that they could lead a life there.   
Of course, Loki with his damned silver tongue was able to convince Tony to stay in Asgard for the first month, with maybe a bit of help from an extremely expensive bottle of wine as they’d gone out shopping for whatever it was they’d wanted to decorate the house with.   
This time, they went with dark blues, whites and blacks; domestic colors that kept their home elegant but in a rugged sort of way.  
The perfect home for a god and a genius.

*

“Why do you not live here?”

Loki asked it while Tony was trying to find himself a decent bottle of alcohol, maybe Macallan? That had always been a favorite. It was out of nowhere, completely random yet the god’s voice was somber and hesitant, as if he knew he wouldn’t like the answer and wasn’t sure if he should ask.

“I’m living here now,” Tony replied carefully, not turning to face Loki in fear of seeing the pity that always came with unanswerable questions.   
No, instead of looking at his husband _(gah)_ , he kept his focus on the bottles, pretending to read the names. In the end, he chose the first bottle his fingers found and poured himself a generous glass full.

“That isn’t what I asked.”

Tony downed his glass in one go and topped it off again.

“Howard wanted me around.” It was the simplest answer he could think of.

“You could’ve left.”

“No, I couldn’t have.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s never been my choice to make.”   
Loki didn’t answer immediately, and Tony slowly turned to face him, leaning his hip against the edge of the steel bar table.   
Tony didn’t see anything in those cold emerald eyes, not even pity. They were void of any emotion possible, and Tony wanted to rip his hair out because dammit he _knew_. He couldn’t even look at his own reflection because he knew what he’d see; empty, emotionless eyes screaming for someone, _anyone_ to notice the façade and care enough to take it down.

“Why?”

“You know damn well why.”   
Silence.   
No reply from Loki whatsoever, not even an answer in confirmation, but Tony knew. Of course he knew; Loki understood the horrors of being a young prince, of constantly living under the rule of a king who wants nothing short of the best, who wants the world to go his way and no other way, who has ways of controlling everyone and everything they possibly can _(even their sons)_. To the kings’, control is everything and the loss of that would be worse than the loss of a limb.

Tony’s absent stare at the wall was interrupted when Loki stepped in front of him, holding out a hand.   
Tony moved his eyes up the god’s torso and to his face at the feel of those emerald orbs burning into him. Without a second thought, he placed his hand in Loki’s and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

Tony wasn’t sure how Loki was able to get the drink from his hand, or how the god was able to persuade Tony into the bedroom, but the next thing he knew, he was lying on his stomach on the bed, the soft white of the moon shining through the windows and lighting the room in silvery shadows. His shirt was discarded on the floor somewhere, but that didn’t matter when there was a god was straddling his hips and those strong fingers were slowly working out the tension that had built in his neck with the upcoming migraine he could already feel forming behind his eyes. Those cool fingers set a slow but steady trail from his neck down to his ass and back up again, massaging away the tension like magic, the heat of the god’s hands absolute _heaven_ on his aching muscles. Thumbs dug into either side of his spine and rid of the knots that had spent a long, long while forming, what with work in the lab _and_ outside of it. Fingertips pressed into all the right spots, drawing out all the aches and pains until they were gone completely. Until he was numb with pleasured relief that he could turn his head without an ache flaring up. Until he was half asleep and didn’t have a care in the world.   
Tony was boneless beneath the god now, and barely noticed when he crawled off and gently maneuvered Tony until he was beneath the covers, his head resting on the pillow _(the pillow that was blissfully cool)_. And then those same strong hands moved up to his head and ever so gently began rubbing circles, slowly but surely massaging away the pounding throb that had worked up but he hadn’t noticed until he was left with nothing else to focus on.   
Loki didn’t stop until Tony was almost asleep, numb with relief, and even then, he barely noticed.   
God, he felt so good right now, so fucking good. Better than he had in years. For once in however long he could remember, his back didn’t hurt and he could fall asleep without a Metallica concert running ramped in his head.  

Tony drifted off pretty quickly, too numb to have noticed the cool lips that had brushed gently across his temple, or to have heard the quietly whispered:

“Sleep well, dear Anthony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff and domesticity for you my dears. More of Loki taking care of Tony because cute. And a bit more of Tony's forming trust for Loki


	7. The New King

Watching Anthony sleep, while possibly sounding rather…strange, was a very refreshing experience. No, refreshing wasn’t quite right. Enlightening, perhaps?   
While staying with Anthony _(they’d decided to stay the night here in their Malibu home and then to go to Asgard tomorrow morning)_ and talking with the boy, it was easy for one to forget he was but twenty five years of age. Whether it was the shadows beneath his eyes, the tense way he constantly held himself or the sophisticated way he could speak when he so wished, Loki couldn’t tell.   
Yet when the boy slept, he seemed so innocent, so young, as if he had never been tainted by the worlds, or even by _his_ world; the one he grew up in, the one he was taught and abused in, the one he was forced to remain in when his wish was simply to _get away_ from the life he had never wished to live nor ask for.   
One does not get to choose who they are in any of these worlds, but that in no way means they cannot choose what _happens_ in any of these worlds.   
It would seem, however, that Anthony had never gotten to make those choices for himself, as if Howard had made all of them for the boy _(and he likely had)_. Everyone deserves a chance to choose their own fate, even the young prince _(especially for him)_. Perhaps living with Loki would be better for Anthony; he would have the freedom he so desperately craved and would be away from his father’s abusive hand.

Loki honestly hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’d just been watching; watching the gentle rise and fall of the boy’s chest, watching the flutter of his lashes against his cheeks, watching the way he gradually curled tighter into himself. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but that in no way meant it didn’t happen. Luckily, when he’d woken with an arm draped around Anthony’s middle, the boy had still been asleep.   
Loki had jerked away so fast he’d almost fallen out of bed.   
He’d then proceeded to watch the way the boy’s muscles would tense, as if he were afraid or readying to fight, and then relax as if whatever threat that had been there was gone.   
But oh, watching the shift of Anthony’s muscles beneath his tanned skin, seeing the faint white scars marring his body, seeing the gleam of sweat coating the boy’s body _(he would not think about what it was from now)_ …oh, it woke another far more sensitive part of Loki’s anatomy.   
Oh, he needed a cold shower…immediately.   
He walked quickly to the bathroom and shut the door quietly behind him, absently instructing Jarvis to turn the shower on for him.   
He undressed quickly and stepped under the spray, only to find it was not as cold as he’d been hoping _(was rather warm, actually)_.   
It was far too late to dampen his arousal, and the thought of being watched while he took himself in hand _(in Anthony’s shower no less)_ only stood to make him even harder.   
His strokes were fast paced and his fingers were wrapped tightly around his heavy cock, his eyes squeezed shut as he panted through his nose. By the Norns, if the wall hadn’t been there, he would’ve fallen to his knees. Speaking of knees…oh, he could see it; Anthony kneeling before Loki, gazing up at him with that ridiculous smirk of his as he took Loki’s cock between his lips…a very indecent noise was pulled deep from Loki’s chest as he came all over Anthony’s shower wall.   
His breaths came in shallow pants and his heart beat faster than it usually did when he did this…but he was most definitely going to do it again. He leaned against the wall while he caught his breath before washing himself quickly…and making sure nothing was on the shower wall before getting out.   
He grabbed himself a towel and ran it through his hair before wrapping said towel loosely around his hips and stepping out of the bathroom-  
-and stopping mid-step as he caught sight of the glowing circle in Anthony’s chest and heard the boy’s gasp of surprise.   
Loki’s eyes moved slowly from the light up to Anthony’s eyes and there they stayed, locking onto the boy’s.   
They stayed like that for a while, neither moving nor speaking, before Anthony cleared his throat and broke the heavy silence that had descended upon them.

“Um, I’ve always wanted to be a flashlight?” the boy attempted lamely, only his eyes giving away just how terrified he was that Loki had seen….whatever it was.

“You will explain this,” Loki finally said, walking over to sit on the bed beside the boy, who had clearly just been taking a cover of some sort off of it, as the dark piece of cloth was still in his hand.   
The fear in the boy’s eyes faded into something cold and steely, something Loki had yet to see and didn’t ever want to see again.

“No, I won’t.”

Loki blinked multiple times at the boy, not expecting the answer he’d gotten.  

“Excuse me?” was what came out instead of the insult that had been sitting at the tip of his tongue.

“I said _no_ , Bambi, and I meant no. I’m not telling you because it’s none of your business and frankly, I don’t _want_ to tell you. You don’t _demand_ what you want, Loki, you ask and you don’t seem to be very good at that. Yeah, you’re a Prince and a God and are probably used to getting what you want with a snap of your fingers but to be honest, I couldn’t give a flying fuck about how important you are because here? _I_ am the prince of this realm and this is _my_ house and _my_ bed and you will _not_ come into it like my fucking father and _demand_ things from me when there is _nothing_ I owe you.”   
Ooh, so fear and defiance had melted into anger and fury. This was not something Loki wished to deal with, not from someone with a tongue sharp enough to rival his own; to possibly _outwit_ his own.   
No, instead, Loki took a deep breath and did what the boy wanted; he asked.

“Will you explain to me what this is?” He motioned to the glowing light in the boy’s chest.

“No.”   
The boy stood and gazed down at Loki.   
“Unless you want to _explain_ what those noises I heard coming from my shower were.”   
And with that Anthony was walking from the room, leaving Loki in silence with his jaw hanging open like some sort of fish.   
Oh, Loki liked this one, despite the boy’s talent for annoying any living creature around him.   
The defiance, the bravery, the wit, the intelligence and the charm…Norns, the boy was perfect for the likes of Loki. They were so much alike that getting along would be a challenge Loki knew would be near impossible.   
Somewhere, he knew the Norns were laughing.

*

Loki was alone in the living room, sprawled on the plain white couch with one of the novels Anthony had suggested when he heard it; the sound of shattering glass coming from downstairs, and quite a lot of it.   
He hurried down the stairs, taking them three at a time, and froze abruptly upon seeing the state of Anthony’s lab.   
Scraps of metal and random tools were littering the floor, half finished projects lying broken near the worktables that lay on their sides. Wires were sparking dangerously and the glass door and windows that led to Anthony’s workshop had been shattered completely.  
And in the midst of it all was Anthony, on his hands and knees amidst the destruction of his lab, breathing harsh and labored, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Glass crunched sharply beneath Loki’s boots as he hurried over to Anthony, kneeling beside the distraught boy, the metallic smell of blood in the air from where the glass was digging into Anthony’s palms and his knees.

“Anthony?” he asked quietly, hesitantly, resting a hand on the boy’s bowed back.

Silence.   
He pulled the boy upright, placing a gentle fingertip beneath Anthony’s chin and tilting his head up, holding his jaw in careful fingers when the boy tried to turn his head away.   
Finally, those eyes opened.   
Bright with unshed tears, Anthony was staring at him as if his world had been ripped from beneath his feet and he had yet to get his footing.   
There was something in those dark depths, something Loki had never seen before and didn’t ever want to see again, something so close to defeat that is scared him more than he could understand.

“They’re dead.”

The boy’s voice was hoarse, choked, as if he was having trouble simply getting the words out.   
Loki frowned deeply.

“Who, Anthony?”

“Howard and- and Jarvis….”   
And then Anthony collapsed into him, arms winding tightly around Loki’s waist as if he might fall through the floor if he didn’t have something to hold on to.   
The boy’s entire form was trembling with the force of holding back his sobs and Loki just- he just held the boy, unable to do much else.   
And that was when Anthony was unable to hold on anymore and let out a sob, fingers clutching at the back of Loki’s shirt, looking for something- anything- to hold on to.

“Th-there was an explosion,” Anthony whispered through his tears. “In my lab….o-one of my weapons…” And then he could no longer continue, breaking down in heart wrenching sob’s that brought tears to Loki’s eyes and completely ripped his heart in two.

“I’m sorry, Anthony,” Loki whispered into the boy’s hair. “ _I am so sorry_.” He whispered it as if that could possibly fix anything at all.   
Anthony sagged in Loki’s arms.

“Me too.”

They stayed like that until Anthony had cried himself into an exhausted sleep.   
Loki pulled on his magic and fixed the lab to the best of his ability, restoring it to its former glory. He couldn’t fix the broken projects; he hadn’t a clue as to how they worked.

Loki hauled Anthony into his arms and up to his bedroom, lying the boy down beneath the covers before taking off his boots and pulling the silken sheets up to the boy’s chest.   
On a whim, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Anthony’s brow, murmuring softly in his ear.

“Do not worry. You will be alright, King Anthony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are, chapter seven :) Hope you liked!


	8. Downhill

Tony woke early; the sun had barely risen above the clouds, casting the room in a dull golden glow. Yawning, he crawled out of bed and stretched his arms above his head- and a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention.  
Frowning, he turned back to bed and saw Loki curled up on the far edge of the bed, eyes closed and breathing even in sleep. Tony watched him for a while, trying to figure out _why_ exactly the god had taken up residence in his bedroom-  
-when it suddenly hit him like a freight train and he forgot how to breathe.   
Howard and Jarvis. Gone. _Dead_. Because of Tony.

“Oh god…” he choked out, fingers clutching in the sheets as he tried to get his breathing under control _(fuck, as he tried to get any air at all)_ but his chest was too tight and it felt like there was a vice around his throat and god fucking dammit he couldn’t _breathe_ because it was his fault, he’d killed the only family he had left-   
-and suddenly a harsh slap to the face brought him out of whatever hole he’d fallen in.   
Blinking multiple times against the sheen of tears in his eyes, he found himself staring into worried emerald orbs, strong fingers digging into his shoulders, grounding him.

“Anthony? Are you with me?”   
Right. Loki. That was Loki. His husband.

“Yeah, I’m…yeah.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and took a deep breath and blew it out just as slowly. “Sorry,” he said, although he wasn’t entirely sure what he was apologizing for. Waking Loki, he supposed.

“There is nothing for you to be sorry for. Are you alright?”

“I’m fuckin’ dandy,” he mumbled, shaking off Loki’s grounding grip. “M’gonna go shower.” And that’s what he did, closing and locking the bathroom door behind him, taking another calming breath before starting the shower and stripping, stepping beneath the scalding water, letting it soothe his aching muscles and run down his skin comfortingly…almost as comforting as Loki’s arms, but not quite.   
Washing quickly and ignoring the sting in his palms from the small cuts littered there, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, running a towel through his hair and slinging another around his hips.   
Coming out of the bathroom, steam chasing after him, he saw Loki was still there, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him as he came out.   
Tony ignored him as he disappeared into the closet to get dressed.

Loki didn’t ask about the arc reactor this time.

*

Breakfast had been awkward, to say the least, neither of them speaking to the other.   
No matter, though, because Tony didn’t feel like talking anyways. He’d rather wallow alone in his guilt, not drag another person down into it with him.   
He was only able to eat one piece of toast before it threatened to come back up with his guilt, so he didn’t eat anymore.   
He went down to his lab instead, leaving Loki alone at the table, going downstairs to the one place he could find solace.

He never ended up thanking Loki for fixing up his lab but then, he didn’t need to.   
No, he just worked. He didn’t end up coming up for lunch or dinner, and Loki didn’t come down. Not for a while. Not until Tony was far past drunk and lost in his own mind, struck down by his guilt, overwhelmed by his sorrow. Not until he’d heard Tony’s stream of curses as he’d burnt himself for the third time that night with his soldering iron trying to fix one of the default gauntlets of his newest suit.

“Anthony?” Loki asked tentatively as he entered, careful and hesitant, unsure if he was allowed in. Tony wasn’t sure if he was either, but he didn’t really care either way.

“I’m fine, Loki,” Tony replied, absently shaking out the burnt hand.

“The fact that you used my name tells me otherwise,” Loki replied softly, coming to stand behind Tony, settling his hands on Tony’s shoulders.

“Maybe I’m just getting used to it,” Tony shot back, not even bothering to look at the god.

“You know just as well as I how unlikely that is to happen.”   
And yeah, he had a point but…still.

Tony sighed. “What do you want?”

“I simply wish to see if you are alright….”

“My father’s dead, my best friend is dead, it’s my fault and you want to see if I’m _alright?_ Do you _think_ I’m alright?” Tony seethed, knowing it was irrational to get angry with Loki but not bothering to stop himself.

“Perhaps it’s a ridiculous question, so I would like to ask another instead; will you _be_ alright?”   
Tony thought about that one; thought about it a lot harder than he really needed to, actually.

“Eventually,” he finally answered. “Not now, maybe not tomorrow or a week from now, but eventually.”

“That is all I needed to hear.” Loki’s strong fingers began massaging the tense muscles of his shoulders, easing the tension away.

“You care. Why?” Tony asked, hands pausing in his work on the gauntlet.

“You are my husband-”

“It’s _more_ than that, Loki, and you know that just as well as I.”   
There was silence behind him, and for a moment, Tony was afraid he wouldn’t get an answer.

“You are correct, yes. It is partially because we are bound; I care for you because you are my spouse and I am _meant_ to care for you. But, Anthony, I have _grown_ to care for you over the course of our relationship and it’s high time I stop denying myself the simple pleasures you bring unto me. When you smile- your real one, mind you, not the one you reserve for those you do not wish to speak to- I cannot help but smile as well; seeing you happy makes _me_ happy. When you cry, I cannot help but shed tears for you and pray to the gods that I never have to see you cry again. I have seen you at your best and at your worst and have come to realize that I have fallen for you in every way imaginable, no matter how much I deny it. So I have decided to stop denying in the hopes that you feel the same as I.” Loki fell silent after that, and Tony slowly turned to face him.   
The god was _wringing his hands_ , for Christ’s sake. Loki was nervous, he looked so fucking nervous that Tony just wanted to wrap him up and assure him that dammit, he _did_ feel the same way.

“I do,” Tony whispered, voice hoarse. “God, I do, but dammit Loki, I don’t want to drag you down with me. I’m falling apart here; I haven’t even been able to manage a stable relationship. How the hell am I supposed to manage being married to a _god?_ I mean, shit, Loki, you’re _so much better than me_. You’re a good man, a genuinely good person and I’m- I’m _what?_ The wayward son of the dead King and Queen? I mean- you’re a god, Loki, the Prince of Asgard, and I’m- I’m a fucking _ant_ compared to you. I’m not even worth your time.” Tony scrubbed a hand over his face and through his hair and buried his face in his hands.

“I think I should be the one to decide who is worth my time, Anthony, and you most certainly are. You are _not_ an ant. You are the King of Midgard, a breathtaking creator and a witty genius.” Loki took his hands and squeezed them gently, as if Tony might break if he did it any harder. Maybe he would. “If anything, _I_ am not worth _your_ time.”    
Tony laughed, because it was either that or cry. Or maybe he could do both, because Loki was looking really blurry right now.   
And Loki seemed to understand _(too well)_ and remained silent, watching Tony with worry in his eyes- so much worry that Tony wasn’t sure what to do because no one had _ever_ looked at him like that, like he was their entire world.

“God,” Tony laughed tearily, breathlessly. “We are such a fucking mess.”

“Indeed,” Loki hummed in agreement and Tony just shook his head and dropped it forward onto the god’s shoulder. Loki didn’t hesitate at all; his arms came up and wound around Tony, holding him close and secure and _safe_ and if Tony wasn’t close to crying before, he certainly was now.

“You…” Tony asked softly after a moment of just letting himself be held. “You won’t leave me…will you?” Hesitant, insecure, scared, this was not Tony Stark. No, this was the seventeen year old boy who’d lost his mother to a car accident. The one who had hated himself so much that he’d tried to kill himself, end it all so he wouldn’t have to _feel_ anything anymore.

“Oh, my Anthony,” Loki breathed. “I will never leave you.”   
They fell silent again, wrapped up in the comfort of each other’s arms, not speaking simply because they didn’t need to. Everything they could have said was conveyed in the tightness of their arms around each other, the way they clung like it was the only thing left that they could do.

“I think,” Tony mumbled absently. “I’m gonna go shower.” He didn’t want to break the silence, didn’t want to leave Loki’s arms but really, he had oil and whiskey on his clothes and tears drying on his face and he just wanted to feel _clean_ again, wash away these past couple of days.

“Of course,” Loki replied, kissing his forehead before pulling both of them to their feet, hesitating before releasing him.   
Tony smiled a watery smile up at Loki, wiped his tears away and disappeared into the bathroom, turning AC/DC on his stereo and blasting it as loud as he could stand, hoping to turn off his mind…at least for a little bit. He turned on the water as hot as he could stand it and letting it flow down his body, washing away the stickiness and the salty tears like they’d never been there _(maybe Tony could pretend they hadn’t been)_.

When he stepped out of the shower, he brushed his teeth and finally, finally felt refreshed, like the world wasn’t trying to fall off his shoulders anymore.   
He turned off the stereo and wound a towel around his waist and stepped out of the bathroom-  
-and froze upon seeing the smashed remains of his roof on the ground with the telltale signs of the bifrost burnt into it…and no Loki.   
He ran throughout the house like a madman, looking for signs of his husband but…he was nowhere to be seen.

He wandered back in to the bedroom, breathing fast and heavy, and curled up in the smoking remains of his room and cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry...this chapter was kind of crappy, but we got feels and angst and we'll certainly be seeing more of that from here on out...as if I didn't give you enough of it already


	9. Silent Reverie

Loki awoke with a quiet groan, blinking through the darkness around him and the foggy haze in his mind in a desperate attempt at remembering how he’d found himself in a dimly lit cell in Asgard’s prison.  
And then it hit him and he couldn’t breathe for a moment, fingers clutching at empty air as if Anthony would still be there. Part of Loki was glad he wasn’t, another more selfish part wished he was.

“Father!” Loki yelled, pushing himself into a standing position, a hand bracing himself against the wall at the wave of dizziness that washed over him.  
Disappointingly _(but not at all surprisingly)_ he got no answer, just silence. Damn it all to Hel if that wasn’t exactly what he’d expected.  
Oh, but worse than the silence was the mystery; he hadn’t a clue why he was imprisoned, nor what had become of Anthony…after all, Loki had just vowed never to leave. The poor boy likely thought Loki had abandoned him the moment he’d heard of Anthony’s true feelings. By the Nine, it was a mess.  
Of course, all of Loki’s relationships had ended badly in one way or another, but this was the first relationship in a long time that he yearned for so badly that it was a physical ache in his chest, suspiciously near where his heart was but _no_ , he was not heartbroken over a mortal who would have been dead in sixty years. He was just a little bit cracked, and cracks were always able to be sealed, no matter how wide or how deep.

Shaking his head, he began pacing, hands folded neatly behind him as he surveyed his cell. It was familiar; he’d been in it countless times before.  
Four glass walls surrounded him, glowing a soft golden color, preventing him from using his magic outside of the cell. No illusion could free him from this cage. A cot with simple black covers and a white pillow was at one end of the cell, a small bedside table with an assortment of books and a lamp sitting neatly beside it. On the other side of the cell sat a table and two chairs _(by the Nine, why would he need_ two _chairs? Perhaps a tool of mockery…)_ with a silver bowl of golden apples from Idunn’s orchard sitting in the middle of the rounded table.  
Aside from that, he had nothing but the clothes on his back and the god awful dull golden vambraces curling around his forearms, dampening his magic to the point where it was practically nonexistent.    
With a deep sigh, he threw himself down onto the cot, laying his head on the pillow and stretching his legs out, folding his arms over his stomach and staring at the plain white ceiling, desperately hoping someone would come and explain his crimes soon.

*

No one came for the first three days, but on that fourth day, he was woken to familiar booming footsteps.

“Have you come to explain, or shall I sit in constant trepidation, waiting for the day that I finally understand what it is I have done to deserve this. I didn’t dye all your clothing green again, did I?” Loki drawled opening his eyes but not bothering to sit up. There was no need for formality when you were imprisoned in a glass cell _(how terribly ironic)_.

“Brother, cease this feign of innocence!” Thor boomed, blue eyes wide and pleading as they’d done many times before.

“It is no feign, _brother mine_ ,” Loki mocked but remained comfortably on his rather uncomfortable cot. He’d have to get around to fixing it.  
Thor blinked at him with all the comprehension of a confused young mare.

“The path the Jotun’s were given,” Thor said slowly, as if speaking to a small child. “They have attacked our realm, Loki, and it was you who gave them passage in.”

“You are accusing me of being a traitor?” Loki asked, sitting up slowly, hoping he wasn’t correct in his assumption.

“Yes,” Thor said simply.

“You _dare_ ,” Loki seethed quietly, standing so quickly that Thor took a step back in astonishment. “Accuse me of _betrayal_ to an entire _realm_?” Loki glared fiercely, eyes blazing with hatred. “I am _many_ things, Thor. A liar, a cheat, yes, but _never_ a traitor. That would insinuate I have broken a sworn fealty to this realm, a contract if you will and that, _brother_ , is something even I dare not do.”

“Father disagrees,” Thor insisted, fingers tightening around the leather wrapped handle of Mjolnir.

“It would seem he is not the only one.”  
Thor sighed and shook his head, almost sadly.

“I am sorry, Loki, but the charges have been made. I cannot change them. Despite wishing otherwise, brother, I cannot believe you did not play your part in this. You have shown your trickery too many times. I will not fall prey to it again.”

 _You’ve cried wolf one too many times, Liesmith_ , Loki seethed to himself, fists clenched tightly at his sides as he gazed hatefully into the sad face of his older br- of Thor.

“Do I not get a trial?” he asked, bit it out, really.

“No. Father does not believe you deserve one and therefore there will not be one.” And then quieter. “I truly am sorry, Loki.”  
And then Thor was walking away, shoulders square and back straight like the King he would someday be, leaving Loki alone once more with only his thoughts to occupy.

Creating a record player from nothing was a bit more difficult than it would’ve been without the vambraces, but with his limited magic supply, it was much harder than he’d ever admit.  
Closing his eyes as the gentle tones of a pianowafted through the speakers, he lay back down on his uncomfortable cot and tried not to think too long about Anthony and focus on the words floating through the speakers with the piano.  
However, it would seem everything reminded him of Anthony tonight.

_“Spend all your time waiting_   
_for that second chance_   
_for a break that would make it okay..._   
_There’s always a reason_   
_to feel not good enough_   
_and it’s hard at the end of the day…_   
_I need some distraction_   
_oh beautiful release…_   
_Memories seep from my veins…_   
_Let me be empty_   
_and weightless and maybe_   
_I’ll find some peace tonight…”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, it's late. I'm sorry. It wasn't ready before I left town over thanksgiving break so...sorry about that.  
> Second, I know, it's also short. But I promise the next one will be longer!  
> Third, yes, Loki does listen to Sarah McLachlan and he is damn proud of it.  
> But not right now. Right now, I think he just wants to cry


	10. The Lonely Road

He wouldn’t call it a spiral into madness, not really. More of a vague saunter downward until he couldn’t tell where the chaos ended and the insanity began. They just sort of blurred together, just like the days since Loki left had….did. Still were.

His hand trembled as he brought the bottle to his lips, but he pretended not to notice, just as he had every other time.   
Four days.   
Four fucking days and Tony was down in his lab like a fucking damsel in distress, drinking his problems away and drinking more when he realized that wasn’t actually possible.   
No matter how much he drank, every time he closed his eyes _(hell, every time he fucking blinked)_ he saw Loki’s face, bright emerald eyes gazing back at him with so much care and honesty that Tony couldn’t bear thinking that it had all been a ruse. Gods, it hurt so much more than he would _(could)_ ever admit, even to himself.

What had the point even been? Lull Tony into a false sense of security? And even then, what for? Loki never had simple reasons, that much was obvious and Tony really didn’t know much about the guy as it was. There was always something buried beneath, always a hidden pain, a lingering spark of anger. But this? Tony couldn’t even think of anything he’d done _(well, to Loki specifically. The gods know Tony’s a fuck up in every way possible)_ to deserve this. Piss of the Norns, maybe? Or just Loki? Perhaps the god had been scared away by Tony’s pathetic insecurities and self loathing. It would make sense. After all, who could try to love someone who didn’t even love himself? Well, okay, lots of people could try and likely succeed, but not with Tony. Never with Tony.   
Tony was the fucking epitome for problem child.

So he drank and pissed and worked in the lab and drank some more.   
It was all he could do these days, work to forget, drink to forget and maybe pass out at the table and then repeat the cycle again. It worked well enough for the first few days.   
And then everything went to hell and Tony was left to burn alone in the ashes of what once had been.

*                                       

There didn’t seem to be anything wrong when Obi came over.   
Tony hadn’t seen him for a few months _(Obi was always doing some business conference or another, being the head in Howard’s council, it was his job)_ and assumed that the older man, who’d always been like a father to him, was coming to see how he was holding up.

“How are you doing, Tony?” the man asked, putting a strong, familiar hand on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing gently and Tony was sure he was going to melt into a puddle of tears right there.

“I’m fine.” His voice broke.

“I wouldn’t call this fine, kiddo,” Obi said in a soft voice as he surveyed the mess of the lab and the empty whiskey bottles _(and occasional coffee mug)_.

“Call it what you will, Obi,” Tony said with a weary sigh, passing a hand across his face, shrugging off any unpleasant thoughts that had made their way to the front of his mind _(damn, he’d been sure he’d locked those all away and blew up the key)_.

“What I _would_ call it, Tony, is self destructive and unhealthy.”

“Seems we have a different point of view on things.”

“Tony,” Obi said pleadingly. “Talk to me. Please.”

So Tony talked.   
And talked, and talked, and talked some more.   
By the time he’d finished telling Obi the entire story of anything that had happened over the last month, it felt like hours had passed. In truth, they couldn’t have been sitting on the floor of his lab for more than forty five minutes but god, _talking_. It sucked. Not as much as how terrible he’d been feeling for the past few days, and the weight of the world on his shoulders lifted just enough that he could straighten them again, breathe without feeling like something had its hand closed around his lungs.

“Thanks for listening to my disastrous tale, Obi,” Tony said, a whiskey bottle dangling from between his fingers.

“Of course,” Obi said with a smile, the fatherly one he reserved for Tony. “Now, I just need to ask you to sign this,” the man said suddenly, procuring a packet of papers from…somewhere Tony couldn’t be sure of.

“What is it?” Tony asked, gazing at it in confusion.

“Just the paperwork that needs to be signed to make you officially King of Midgard,” Obi said calmly, smiling encouragingly as he handed Tony the papers and pen _(dammit, he didn’t like being handed things!)_ and took the bottle from his fingers.   
Looking back on it, Tony realizes that perhaps he should’ve read the contract he was signing, but he’d been half drunk and had really, really wanted to sleep.

After he’d scrawled his signature and initialed wherever his signature needed to be scrawled and his initials initialed, Obi took the papers, looked over them with a smile that was just a bit too maniacal for Tony’s tastes, and said with a voice of cold calm and clear order:

“Good. Now get the hell out.”

Tony blinked.

 _What?_  “What?”

“You heard me. Get. Out.”

“What? But I-”

“-just signed over your company, fortune, Kingship and all your belongings to me. In fact, you agreed that you are not in the right frame of mind to rule over an entire world and that you are not fit to work in a lab with tools that could potentially be harmful, and that my becoming king would be what is best for this realm.”

Tony stared in open mouthed shock at the person whom he’d always considered as a father and the only thing he could think to ask was _why_?

“My dear boy,” Obi said with a laugh. “You were _never_ fit to be a king. I’ll be the ruler you always despaired you’d be and your father always wanted you to be.”   
And, just like that, Obi grabbed Tony by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out the door. Tony was too shocked to protest much.   
With a wide eyed and kneeling Tony on the front doorstep, Obi smiled, looking pleased.

“Hm. I like seeing you bow.” And then the door was slammed shut and Tony was alone. He could break back into his own house, but one, how ridiculous would that be. Two, he had _tons_ of security and would likely be blown to bits and three, he’d just given his entire fucking _life_ to the person he’d loved more than his own father. Hell, to the person he considered his father. Worse, he’d done it almost _willingly_.

No matter how long he lived, he’d always deny that he had tears running down his cheeks as he walked away from the only home he’d ever known.

*

Finding somewhere to stay had been impossible. No one wanted a drunk living in their house, especially one that had allegedly betrayed the realm he was supposed to be ruling.

The day after the blowout with Obadiah, the man had sent out a worldwide broadcast that told the world about Tony Starks hand in the Great King Howard’s death: about how Tony had purposely blown up the house he was no longer staying in so he could become King and own the company and its entire fortune. About how Tony Stark had attempted to murder Obadiah when the other man had figured out his ploy.   
So, not only was Tony a traitor, he was a murderer and a drunk and no one, not anyone, would take him in. After all, he _was_ old enough to provide for himself, right?   
Too bad no one had ever shown him how.

He couldn’t get back to his tree, either: his safe haven was what it was and he’d lost that too, something Obadiah hadn’t even known about. His tree was back in New York in the garden no one dared enter on a path lonelier than the road to Hell, surrounded by half crumbling marble statues and stone benches worn by age. He’d perfected the place, deemed it his long ago. He’d strung up strings of small glowing orbs in the Willow’s falling branches, created those orbs from diamond and a bit of magic he’d harvested years earlier, before his father had caught him with it, before he’d locked it away in a place even Tony couldn’t get to. Magic had been banned, outlawed, _destroyed_. Tony had learned long ago that anything could be destroyed no matter how solid, how real it seemed, so long as you chipped away at it long enough. He’d polished the marble statues, rid of the bits that had broken. He’d rebuilt the stone benches; made them whole again, made them his just like everything else in the damn place. He’d dragged one of the benches beneath his tree, scribbled dozens of formulas and theory’s into the bench in his messy scrawl, made the place really, truly his once and for all.   
It was the place he went when he needed to get away.   
When he needed to escape reality.   
When everything got to be too much and he wanted nothing more than to throw himself off the edge of the nearest building, let himself fall and fall and never hit the ground.

And now, he didn’t even have that.  

Today was one of those days. One of the ones where he debated jumping in front of the next car he saw.   
He’d been chased out from the dumpsters by an off duty officer before he’d even had the chance to find his dinner for the night.   
And then Ironman had flown by, someone in one of _his_ suits, painfully reminding him of everything he’d lost and a little kid had shouted “mommy, look! It’s Ironman!” and Tony had just tried to hold it together because that should’ve been _him_ in the suit, not Obadiah or whoever it was in there. That should’ve been _him_ the little kid was pointing at, smiling like she was just given the fucking world.   
The rain had started shortly after that, so heavy Tony thought it was trying to drown the city.

 _Well_ , Tony thought even though he knew this already. _Even god’s cry_.

He was huddling beneath a coffee shop awning when he felt a familiar aching throb behind his eyes. The string of curses he let out after that had the shop owner _(who had come out upon seeing the homeless man standing there)_ shooing him off, back out into the rain and the cold reminder that _shit, this is what my life has become_.   
The park was the next place he went and while the park bench wasn’t necessarily comfortable, it was dry, hidden nicely beneath a large tree and he wouldn’t freeze to death or get pneumonia so really, it was as good a place as any.   
But _god_ , his head fucking _hurt_.   
So he laid his head down on his arms, closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep. It took a lot longer than it used to but not much longer than it usually did these days.

*

Waking the next morning, Tony found himself _warm_.   
It wasn’t just because the sun was shining or the birds were chirping or there were kids playing at the park.   
No, there was a coat draped over him. An actual fucking _coat_. Clean. Thick. _Warm_.   
He sat up slowly, rubbing his fingers into his eyes to clear them, blinking blearily as he tried to find who had left the coat. Seeing no one who looked like they would fit in the broad, deep brown leather jacket, he searched out the tag and peered closely at it, barely able to make out the name scrawled neatly into the tag:  
 _Steve Rodgers_.   
Frowning, he gazed around even as he shoved his arms through the sleeves of the coat and pulled it tight around himself, half afraid this Steve would come back for it.  
He sat peacefully for a few moments. It took him an embarrassingly long amount of time to see the brown paper bag sitting on the bench next to him. Blinking a few times, he peered into the bag and found-  
-oh dear lord, two Subway sandwiches and a hot thermos of _something_. A note, too.   
Pulling it out, he unfolded the clean white paper and read:

_Looks like you need this. Take care.  
-N. R_

He stared at the paper, praying this wasn’t some sort of joke.   
N.R…initials, probably.   
Shaking his head, he dug into the sandwich, completely ravished it until only crumbs were left.   
Perhaps, for the first time in a long time, today would be a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. It sort of gets worse at the end, but I'm tired. School fucking sucks and...I'm going to stop there before I rant. Anyways, I hope you guys like! I promised this chapter would be longer. And we finally got to know what Tony's special place looks like!


	11. Where We Belong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDE ATTEMPT

It takes years for Loki to escape.   
He counted the days, waiting impatiently for the opportune moment to escape: 1,762 days.   
It’s quite ridiculous, if he really thinks about it.  
As it turned out, he was imprisoned on a whim: father hadn’t even been sure it _had_ been Loki. What was it he’d said…reasonable doubt, wasn’t it?   
There had been a portal of some sort, glowing green _(allegedly the same color as his magic)_ and out had come an army of Jotun’s, terrorizing and killing as they had done half a dozen times before. That had been the only…evidence…of Loki being there. Of course, he _hadn’t_ been there and it hadn’t been _his_ magic. It was only _natural_ , of course, to blame the unwanted son. The black sheep of the family, that’s what he was. That was, perhaps, why no one thought to question his imprisonment.   
Mother came to visit every day, except for the day she didn’t.   
It wasn’t until nearly a week later that he’d learned of her death. He’d mourned. He’d screamed. He’d cried and sobbed and cursed everything that had ever been, but it had done nothing.   
Eventually, he could say her name without it hurting.   
That had been last year.   
Word traveled round the realm fast- unless, of course, you were prisoner. A traitor. Then, word didn’t travel at all.

He thought about Anthony every day, no matter how much it hurt. He even, perhaps, thought about him more than his own mother. It was wrong, yes, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true. Where was Anthony now? How was his Kingship? Was he able to let go, move on, be the strong leader Loki knew he could be? Perhaps he could ask Thor…no. There was nothing left he needed of his _dear brother_. Nothing at all.

 _Lies_ , that voice whispered. _He has everything you need_.

And, no matter how true that was, he wouldn’t let it dictate him. He dared not beg for the help of the one who betrayed him. Never.   
No, Loki would wait.   
After all, patience was an art he’d long since mastered.

*                                                                 

The second time the Jotun’s attacked, there was no one to blame. The only one blame had ever been placed on was imprisoned.   
Or, rather, escaping.   
He couldn’t have called for the attack, no, but it gave him the perfect moment to escape. The spell had taken much time to perfect, and there was always the chance that it would misfire, but it would have been much better than spending the rest of his life imprisoned for a crime he hadn’t committed.

The plan was flawed, but if it came with the promise of freedom, he would endure. Yes, four years wasn’t long for an immortal being, but it _was_ long for a man who’d lost anyone who’d ever cared for him in less than a week. Loki wasn’t even sure Anthony would be waiting for him…but he could hope.

The portal had taken months to fully form; it had only been completed three days ago. But it would have to do; everyone in Asgard was distracted. Now was his first _(and quite possibly last)_ chance.

Taking a deep breath, he muttered the spell to activate the portal quietly under his breath, watching as it opened. Gazing into the swirl of colors and stars, he closed his eyes, focused on where he wished to be, and jumped-  
-and landed on something hard and rough.

Opening his eyes, he swore he could’ve cried; vehicles of all sorts rushed by, the smells of the city assaulted him, buildings loomed above him, the sunlight blinded him and it was one of the most beautiful things he’d seen in a long while.   
Standing, he brushed dirt off his pants, ignoring the stares of curious passerby and walking purposefully to his and Anthony’s home, hoping more than he could bear that Anthony would be there.   
As he walked, he heard some sort of loud commotion and his eyes were drawn to a large group of people surrounding a building and pointing upwards. Letting his gaze follow their pointing fingers, he felt his breath catch in his chest as his eyes caught sight of a man a hundred stories up, just a pinprick against the blinding sunlight behind him.   
Without second thought, Loki teleported himself onto the roof behind the man, letting his gaze rake over the thin body, the dirty clothes, the dark hair that fell messily to the man’s shoulders.

“Step back,” Loki said, more of a command than anything. He would not let this man die. But first, he needed to convince him that he shouldn’t.

“Why?” the man asked, voice hoarse and rough, as if it had been too long since he’d spoken.

“You have much to live for.” Of course, the man who’d just escaped a prison wouldn’t know much about worth.

“And you would know?” The man’s voice was trembling now, breaths hitching like he couldn’t pull in enough air.

“No. But I _do_ know that there have been times where I have debated doing exactly what you are doing now.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Someone pulled me back.”

“Because they needed you alive?”

“Because they cared.” Yes, even if Anthony didn’t know he was Loki’s saving grace, it did not change the fact that Loki had been going down a dark path when he’d been forced to marry the mortal.

“You don’t know me. You can’t care about someone you don’t know.”

“Quite the contrary, sire.”

“Why?”  
 _That damn question again._

“Because something has obviously driven you to the point where death seems a better alternative than life. And I intend to find out why.”

“So I’m a pet project?”

“You’re whatever you wish to be.”  
The man fell silent after that, his hands folding behind his back regally, as if this were a gala rather than his possible death. The hands were tanned but dirty, rough looking. A workman’s hands. The man’s fingers twisted tightly together, his entire being tense and Loki couldn’t help but wonder what was going through the man’s head right now.

“You left.” The words were uttered so quietly, Loki almost didn’t hear them.   
But he did. And they made him pause confusedly, gazing at the man’s back. At the ratty clothes. At the tense muscles. At the dark brown hair. At the familiar workman’s hands.

“ _Anthony_.” The word had shoved itself past his lips before he could stop it, bringing precious oxygen with it because _oh_ , he couldn’t breathe. Tears stung his eyes as the man turned to face him.   
And it really truly was his Anthony.   
He was thin, too thin, as if he hadn’t eaten in days. His hands trembled as he brought them up to run through his messy hair. His eyes, which had previously been so brilliant, so full of life, were now dull, stormy with newfound emotion.   
The only thing that remained the same was the circle in his chest, glowing just as brightly as it always had.

“Oh, my Anthony,” he whispered as he stepped forward, raising his hands so he could settle them on the other man’s face.   
But Anthony took a step back, closer towards the edge of the building and quietly whispered,

“ _Don’t_.”

Loki froze, gazing at his previous lover with wide eyes.

“You left me,” Anthony continued, his fingers knotting in front of him. “You _left_ , after you promised you wouldn’t. You fucking _promised!_ ” Anthony screamed, taking a step forward and shoving at Loki’s chest.   
The man was so weak now that it barely pushed him back a step. Instead, Anthony pounded on Loki’s chest with his fists as he screamed, tears streaming down his cheeks.   
“I told you _everything!_ You stayed by my side through the bad and then you fucking _left_ , Loki, after _promising_ you wouldn’t! Why? Why would you do that? I fucking fell for you with everything I had and you _left!_ ”   
The man had exhausted himself; the hits were feeble, fueled only by his anger.   
Loki gently encircled Anthony’s wrists with one hand and pulled the man to his chest with his free arm.

“ _I am so sorry_ ,” Loki whispered into the other man’s hair as Anthony cried into his chest, feeling tears well hotly in his own eyes. “I didn’t leave by choice, Anthony. I would never do that to you.”

“Never again,” Anthony whispered through his tears, clinging to Loki with everything he had left _(which honestly wasn’t much)_.

“Never again,” Loki agreed, holding his mortal impossibly closer. “Anthony, I-”

“I know,” Anthony whispered, his arms tightening further around Loki.   
There was nothing more either of them could say but then, they didn’t need to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. It's sort of shitty, sort of short, but you get the point. Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter should be longer!


	12. Laying Siege

Still wrapped in Loki’s arms, now sitting with their legs dangling over the edge of the roof, Tony told Loki what happened. In shortened terms, yes, but he told them nonetheless and Loki listened silently, captivated and furious all at once.   
It was a long tale, of course. There was so much that had happened since Loki left, Tony didn’t even know where to start.   
So, he began with how this all started.   
He told Loki all about how Obadiah’s betrayal and who, exactly, the man had been to him and why it had hurt so badly. Obadiah had been like a father to him, of course it had hurt. He’d cared for Tony more than his own father did….or so he’d thought.

Everything had changed once Obadiah had taken over. Instead of a King, the man had become a dictator…worse still, he had billions of followers. Everyone had fallen for his words, his lies. And those thousand or so that hadn’t had formed a protest group….in silence, of course. But when you have a world full of people who follow what you’re protesting, you’re bound to have spies. Inside men. Nearly everyone in the rebel group had been killed off, one by one. Tony was sure there was still a few out there, but no one knew where they were. They hid, like all good radicals did. And when they weren’t hiding, they were blowing up government buildings, even attacking Obadiah at home; no one had killed him yet, though. Tony wondered if they had even tried. So far, they had been about sending messages: he can’t remember what they called themselves…Shield maybe? Yeah, that was it. Shield. Their ‘messages’ were basically “fuck off, _my liege_ , or you won’t make it to tomorrow”. They’d blown at least four government buildings in the U.S alone, five others worldwide _(that he knew of)_ and there were a total of nearly two thousand casualties, all of them working or spying for Obadiah. They did a pretty damn good job of letting Obadiah know he wasn’t safe _anywhere_ , especially after his personal assistant, a preppy blond racist woman who was, not only in the “white power” mindset but was also homophobic and believed that “god hates fags” _(she had a bumper sticker to prove it)_ , was killed in cold blood in Obadiah’s living room. Okay, technically it was Tony’s old living room but whatever. Well, Tony had never read the bible so what the hell did he know? He was also sort of atheist but that was a whole different story that he didn’t need to get into. Needless to say, it had a bit _(a lot)_ to do with Howard.   
So she sort of deserved what she got, even though Tony would never admit to anyone other than Loki that he thought killing people was a good way to send a message to the world’s latest dictator.   
Obadiah took complete control of trade with other realms and broke off the alliance with Asgard, instead allying himself with Jotunhiem. This, of course, pissed off the Asgardians and more so, Odin, and caused a war to brew between Asgard and Midgard. Sure, it was under the rap but it was a war nonetheless, whether it was assassinating major leaders or a full blown fight between the Asgardians and the allied Midgardian’s and Jotun’s.   
But Obadiah was still able to sweet talk his way back into the people’s good graces and gained even more followers in the process after ensuring that everyone knew that Asgard had betrayed them _(lie)_ and that Odin had surrendered shortly after the war had begun _(also a lie)_.   
Worse still, people _believed_ this. He was _just_ as effective as Hitler had been and it was slightly terrifying.

“And this all happened in the four years I was gone?” Loki asked, wide eyed and shocked.

“Yeah. A lot can change in four years, Loki, especially with us mortals.” There was more bitterness in his voice than he intended to have, but he couldn’t help it. Loki had left him for _four years_ , god dammit. He was allowed to be bitter and angry and maybe a little heartbroken but he’d never say that out loud.   
Loki frowned before something seemed to dawn on him and the frown morphed into something akin to horror.

“You think I left you.” It was a simple statement, but the blatant horror on Loki’s face as he said it made it less so.

“Isn’t that kinda what you did?” Tony asked, raising a brow at the god who seemed utterly heartbroken at the inquiry.

“No, oh Anthony, no. I would never leave you. Never like that. I was falsely imprisoned by the AllFather and my _dear_ brother. I was accused of giving Jotun’s entry into Asgard; dozens lost their lives because of that, but I did not allow them entry. I am unsure who _did_ but…Anthony, I only just escaped. I could never….I would never leave you. Please, you must believe me.” Loki begged, pleaded with Tony to believe him. But it was hard, so hard to trust someone again.   
That certainly hadn’t been what he was expecting, though.   
Perhaps he could try, just one more time, trusting someone.

“I…of course I believe you,” Tony replied, biting at his lip. “It’s just…hard to,” he finished lamely.

Loki frowned deeply. “Hard to believe me, or trust me?” the god asked sadly, knotting his hands in front of him, just over Tony’s stomach.

“…trust. But not just you, Loki. Everyone. Anyone. After what Obadiah did…”

“I know, Anthony. You needn’t explain.” Though he still sounded sad, or maybe even upset; not at him, though, and he knew that. He almost sounded upset with…with _himself_.   
Tony bit at his lip, gazing at Loki for a moment before shaking his head.

“How ‘bout we just work on getting your name cleared?” he suggested.

“No.” Loki shook his head. “We will get you your Kingdom back.”

“We can’t, Loki. Obadiah is far too powerful to let me take it back.”

“You think he is more powerful than a millennia old god and the youngest genius the realms have yet to see?” There was a mischievous glint in Loki’s eyes now, completely hiding the sadness that had been there before. Tony knew he’d probably done that on purpose.   
Shaking his head, Tony just gazed at Loki; it was time to get his Kingdom back.

*

The first thing they needed to do was expose Obadiah. It was harder than either of them would’ve thought but, as Loki had said, a god and a genius working together…well, they couldn’t be outsmarted.   
Breaking into his own house was odd, especially after having not been there for four years, but he pushed aside all emotion to focus on the task at hand: program Jarvis into the systems and let the world _(every world)_ know what Obadiah was doing and just how he had done it.

They’d made sure to break in at a time where Obadiah wasn’t home to catch them. And when he _was_ alerted that someone had broken in, Jarvis would be back in Tony’s control and Obadiah wouldn’t get there in time to see who it was.   
As soon as they stepped inside, alarms started blaring, lights blinking and Tony swore he was going to go crazy, but with a quick command of “Override Alpha 411. Disengage all security systems. Engage Alpha 5291970”, everything fell silent.   
Programming Jarvis took much longer than he would’ve liked with how intricate he’d created the AI to be, and the wire work was sloppy but it would have to do until he could do some fine tuning when everything was back in his control. Fuck, he didn’t even know if it would work. He’d created it in his…exile, if you could call it that, and even then, he hadn’t known the extent of what he would need; the calculations had been the best he could’ve done in the situation at hand, so he only prayed they would work because really, that’s all he _could_ do.

Tentatively, he said: “Jarvis?”

“Hello, Mr. Stark. I am Jarvis, your personal Artificial Intelligence.” God, the voice sounded exactly like him, just a bit more robotic. He heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced over at Loki, who was gazing at him with widened eyes.

“You named it after your….” The god began.

“Yeah,” Tony replied with a shrug, keeping his eyes on the floor, pretending it didn’t still hurt no matter how much it did, even after all these years.

“Anthony…” Loki began softly.

“Don’t.” Tony whispered before turning his full attention to Jarvis. “Jarvis, Obadiah Stane will be here within the next day or so. Do not, I repeat _do not_ let him know you’re here. I want you to record everything that goes on anywhere in this house from the time he gets here to the time he leaves, and anything else you feel I could use. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. Shall I record any incoming or outgoing phone calls as well?”

“Yeah. When he next leaves again, we’ll be back to get whatever it is you’ve gathered.”

“Yes, sir.” But before anyone could do much of anything, Jarvis’s startled voice echoed throughout the room once more. “Sir! Obadiah Stane is on the premises. He will be down shortly. He seems to have learned of your entry and has already taken action. Please vacate-” The voice crackled and died before it could finish speaking.

“Magic won’t work in here, so don’t bother,” an all too familiar voice called out, sending chills down Tony’s spine. Loki immediately stiffened, fingers clenching into tight fists at his sides as he presumably attempted to use his magic.   
Tony felt his anger boil over at the vulnerable look that passed through the god’s eyes faster than he could conceal it; no one got to put that look in his god’s eyes. _No one_.

“I didn’t think I would see you here again,” Obadiah continued. “After having scared you away. Oh, and you brought your husband. Kudos on the marriage by the way. I never got to congratulate you for that.” The other man winked and then laughed, as if this were the funniest thing in the world. “Isn’t this fantastic?” the older man looked to Loki. “I hadn’t thought we would be meeting this way, Mr. Odinson. In fact, I hadn’t thought we would be meeting at all.”

Loki looked like he was having difficulty keeping himself in check, or maybe having difficulty not smiting Obadiah where he stood. Then again, so was Tony so really, it was no surprise.   
The god stepped sideways, farther from Tony and closer to Obadiah.

“Only the Norns could predict it,” Tony replied with a shrug, letting Obadiah know that yes, there were more powerful beings in the universe than him.

“Ah yes, them. I plan to get them on my side as well,” the older man said with a careless shrug, as if something like that was actually possible.

“If that were even remotely possible,” Loki cut in, a biting edge to his voice. “It certainly wouldn’t be _you_ who achieved it.”

“Ooh!” Obadiah laughed delightedly. “He’s feisty, that one. I might have to keep him.”   
Oh _hell_ no.

“He’s mine,” Tony growled and was shocked to find that he actually meant it.   
Silence fell between them all for a moment, heavy with trepidation. It was Loki who broke it, his words directed at Obadiah even though his eyes were on Tony, the emerald orbs glinting with mischief.

“What, exactly, was your plan? Or even, what _is_ your plan?”

“You think I’m just going to go around telling people that I plan to rule every realm out there?” the man paused. “Oops. Looks like I just did. Might as well continue. Yes, I plan on ruling every realm and those who do not submit to me will perish. After I framed Tony, the realms looked to me in adoration as their new king. I will only be…amplifying that role. None can say no and if they do, they will not survive. It’s a simple case of survival of the fittest. I, of course, am the fittest.”

“So you _did_ lie?” Loki asked, head tilting to the side.

“Of course I did!” Obadiah exclaimed. “I wouldn’t be where I am now if I hadn’t.”

“Oh, I was really hoping you would say that.” With a wicked grin, Loki pulled something from the counter behind him.   
Tony squinted, staring at the small object for a moment before his brain told him what he was seeing. A sly grin began pulling up the corners of his lips and he turned his gaze to the shell-shocked Obadiah, frozen with half a grin still on his face.

“This is your Great King,” Loki said, pointing the camera in Obadiah’s direction once more. “He has lied to you, he has used you and you, like the other realms, will not survive if he remains king.” Loki looked at Obadiah. “I never did get to congratulate you,” Loki mocked. “On your new role as King of Midgard.”

“Is that-” Obadiah began, voice faltering when Loki cut him off.

“A live feed? Oh yes. It is currently being displayed on every television in Midgard worldwide, on every clear surface in every other realm out there.”

“How?” the older man whispered.

“A spell,” Loki replied with a shrug.

“Impossible,” Obadiah immediately disagreed.

“No,” Loki shook his head, as if talking to a small child who had no hope of comprehending. He turned his gaze to Tony. “You can figure this one out, can’t you, my King?”   
Tony blinked a few times in shock, mind working a mile a minute as he tried to figure out just how- _oh_.

“He built in a failsafe,” Tony said. “That way, even if he couldn’t _use_ magic, he would still _have_ magic. The spell was in place before you even got here.” He would have to ask his god how he did that later but at the moment, they had more pressing matters. Like, say, what Obadiah was going to do now that he had been caught.

“Impossible,” Obadiah protested again, though to Tony’s ears _(and probably Loki’s)_ , it was a weak protest, more of a denial than anything.

“Funny how you have to keep saying that,” Loki said, voice smooth as honey and cold as Jotunhiem’s winter.   
That just seemed to outrage Obadiah more. Before he could do anything, however, the concrete walls of what used to be the lab were broken in with what could only have been explosives, sending rubble and debris flying. Loki threw himself at Tony, the god curling his body around him, protecting him from harm. Before anyone could do much of anything, black uniformed men and women were storming inside. Tony immediately recognized them as Shield operatives.   
They moved too fast for Tony to see, but he certainly saw the end result of whatever it was they were doing; Obadiah was safely secured in metal cuffs, a metal gag covering his mouth and jaw, preventing him from speaking. His eyes were murderous, focused directly on Loki and Tony, as if he could kill them if he glared hard enough. If that were the case, Tony already would’ve been dead by now.

Three people walked up to them then. Loki put himself protectively in front of Tony, but Tony knew who one of them was. Everyone did.   
Nick Fury, tall, black everything, intimidating as fuck. Also, modern pirate but he totally rocked the long jacket and eye-patch.   
The other two, Tony had seen before but had never had a name to put to their faces. One, the man, looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, about the same age as the woman, and was wearing a red, white and blue suit, holding a shield with those same colors. He was the fucking epitome of patriotism. The woman, however, was wearing all black and had bright red hair cut to her shoulders. She had the look of someone who could kill you with her pinky. If she was working with Shield, she probably could. Instead of killing him, however, she held out a hand.

“I’m Natasha Romanov,” she introduced herself. Tony blinked at her for a moment and couldn’t help but remember the sandwiches and the note:   
_Looks like you need this. Take care.  
-N.R_

“You’re…the sandwiches…” Tony said as he shook her hand. She smiled a small smile but neither confirmed nor denied.

“And this,” she continued. “Is Steve Rogers.”   
Steve smiled a bit and nodded his head in greeting.

 _Well I’ll be damned_ , Tony thought. The man with the coat and the woman with the food.

“I am Loki,” the god introduced himself, holding himself to his full height with the promise of infinite pain to anyone who dared touch Tony. Tony couldn’t help the dam of emotions that broke upon seeing that look in his god’s eyes.

“We know who you both are,” Fury said, gazing at them calmly before focusing his single eye on Tony. “The contracts you were coerced into signing have been terminated. Mr. Stane will be spending a long, long time in a cell. Any alliances with realms that were made during Mr. Stane’s ruling have been ended. Damages will soon be fixed, new allies will be made, Midgard will start anew.” The man smiled briefly. “Congratulations, Mr. Stark. You have your Kingdom back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this is a week late. Sorry guys! But I was in Oregon for holiday break and was unable to finish the chapter before I had to leave. To make up for the late posting, it's longer than usual :)   
> Also, if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry but it's almost one in the morning and I'm tired


	13. Back to the Way it Was

After Obadiah’s arrest, things were never the way they were but they were slowly working their way towards ‘normal’, whatever that was anymore. Loki was still a convicted felon, or whatever it was they called it in Asgard, and Tony still had no idea how to rule an entire world, so there was that too.  
But Obadiah was officially gone and Midgard was officially Tony’s, so things were already looking up. Oh, and his long lost husband was also back so that was definitely a plus.

There were still a lot of things they needed to work out; Loki had quite literally disappeared off the face of the planet for four years. Tony wasn’t sure if they were even still considered married anymore. Then there was the fact that they somehow needed to prove Loki’s innocence and stop any repercussions of his escape from coming his way. Then there were the problems Obadiah had stirred up during his reign as king and god, there were dozens of those. But things would work out…they always did, no matter how shitty everything got. And they had definitely gotten shitty.  
But they would get better…hopefully.

Three days after Obadiah’s arrest, Asgard had come a-knockin’, taking his god away with them.  
Luckily, his teleportation device was stashed in the area his lab used to be _(was once more)_ in some hidden compartment in the concrete wall. It had been a royal pain in the ass to get to, but he wasn’t letting Loki go…not again. Especially not before they renewed their vows.  
When he finally got to it, he immediately teleported himself to Asgard, making Jarvis promise to alert him if _anyone_ set foot in their property.

Queen Frigga welcomed him with open arms while Odin had voted to throw him off the edge of the Einstein-Rosen Bridge _(though he’d called it the Rainbow Bridge, as everyone else here did)_. Luckily, Frigga’s glare was much more effective than Odin’s, so Tony had wound up staying in a large and immaculate room just down the hall from Loki’s empty one while everyone waited for Loki’s trial. Under normal circumstances, Tony would’ve just broken Loki out, but he was still trying to repair the damages Obadiah dealt out between Asgard and Midgard, so there would be no breaking out allowed. Though if something like this ever happened again…well, that was a different story.

The third night of his stay in Asgard, Queen Frigga invited him for dinner. Half terrified and dressed quite nicely in Asgardian garb, Tony went.

Frigga was sitting quietly and regally in a chair at the head of the small table _(well, small by Asgardian standards- it could probably still fit six people)_ , smiling kindly at him when he entered.

“Hello, Anthony,” she said with a smile, tipping her head in a delicate bow.

“Queen Frigga,” Tony responded, bowing lowly. She smiled warmly at him before gesturing to the seat next to her.

“Please, sit.”  
So Tony sat.

“I want you to understand,” Frigga began in that gentle voice of hers. “That my son loves you more dearly than I think you know.”  
Tony blinked at her a few times in shock.

“No…he doesn’t….he hasn’t said anything about that yet…” he began but he knew it was a weak protest.

“Well, Anthony Stark, neither have you.” She smiled softly, understandingly. Tony frowned a bit because while yes, this was technically true, he didn’t really have time to tell Loki anything in the four years he was gone and he was a bit more focused on trying to ignore the fact that sometimes Loki looked at him like he was broken because of how he found him. And maybe Tony was broken, but only a little bit.

“However,” she continued softly. “I understand why. He has convinced himself you are fragile while you are trying to convince yourself you are not.” She gazed at him with this gentle, motherly look that almost melted him right then, or maybe left him in a puddle of tears because he’d _never_ seen that look on his own mother’s face.  
He couldn’t even find it in himself to protest.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “But he can’t know that I agree with him. If I say it out loud, it means it’s true. And I can’t afford to have that right now. Especially not now.”

“I know, and believe me when I say this: Loki is feeling the same way as you are; you are both in compromising situations that neither of you deserve to be in. However, things have a way of working out and I believe they will for you and my son.”  
Tony passed a hand across his face and looked up at her, letting out a slow breath of defeat.

“How do you know?” he asked instead of spewing everything he wanted to say about how much bullshit that was. Things _never_ seemed to work out how either of them wanted; that was just the life of the wayward Prince and the imprisoned God.  
Queen Frigga smiled softly, a secret little smile, as if she knew something Tony didn’t.

“Trust me, Anthony Stark. I know.”

*

Loki paced his cell: he’d been down here for hours, alone in the slightly too dark stone cell without his Anthony and without his magic. It was awful. Perhaps even worse than when he’d first been imprisoned- at least then, he’d thought that Anthony was living the life he’d always dreamed as king in luxury and wealth. Now, however, he hadn’t a clue what his mad inventor could possibly be doing. What if there was another suicide attempt? What if he lost Anthony for good this time around? 

Shaking his head, Loki paced back to the other end of the cell, nervously awaiting his trial; today was the day. That was what the guard posted outside his door had told him. The day where his punishment would be decided despite him having not done the crime he was likely going to be executed for.

“My Prince?” the guard stuck his head through the door. “It is time.” The guard walked inside and chained Loki’s hands before him before settling a hand on his shoulder and leading him towards the throne room. Anxious, he could hardly contain his nervousness. Would Anthony be there? Would he have to witness Loki’s demise? The possibilities were endless and none of them were ideal.

Walking through the halls of the once beloved castle, he stood tall and silent; waiting. The guard led him to the throne room where Odin already sat calmly and regally, golden staff held tightly in the fingers of his right hand.

“Loki Odinson,” Odin said in a loud, booming voice that carried throughout the entire room. “You have committed great treason against the people of Asgard.” He paused after that, letting his single eye roam round the room.  
It was a private trial, allowing only those closest to Loki and Odin in. Loki let his own eyes roam and, with a jolt of fear and a rush of sadness, discovered Anthony was nowhere in sight. However, there was relief as well; not that Anthony was not here, but because he would not have to witness Loki’s death. Mother stood beside Odin, a look of utter calm and emptiness purposely held in her eyes. It was a look he’d seen many a-time. It almost looked as if she were planning something.  
Thor stood beside her, his head ducked and his shoulders bowed, as if witnessing this was some great pain. Only a handful of other’s joined them on this…eventful day.

“You have dishonored your people, dishonored your title and I am ashamed to say you are my son. From here on, you will forever be known as the prince who betrayed the kingdom and that is no one’s fault but your own. Because of this, you, Loki Odinson, are sentenced to-” Before he could finish, however, the doors were quite literally and quite dramatically _blasted open_ , a pulse of pure silver-blue energy _(presumably the one that opened the door)_ flying into the room and hitting the ground at Odin’s feet, exploding in a puff of smoke, leaving a crater in the stairs leading to Odin’s throne. The sound of heavy, metal footsteps followed, chasing away the utter silence that had fallen throughout the room.  

“Man of Iron,” Odin said slowly, anger barely masked in his newly too quiet voice. Loki felt his heart stutter at those words. _Anthony is here?_ “Why have you brought my son here?”

“Tyr?” Thor asked in confusion, gazing over Loki’s shoulder, his brows pulled together as if he were trying to solve a particularly difficult puzzle.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Anthony drawled. “I thought this was the trial for the guy who let Jotun’s into Asgard. I must’ve gotten the wrong room?” Loki could almost _hear_ Anthony’s distaste.

“This is it,” Odin granted. “But that is no explanation of why you have brought Tyr here, mortal.”  
Loki winced, knowing whatever Anthony said next would not be good and could, quite possibly, get him executed right beside Loki.

“Right, right. Then allow me to give one.” The sound of Anthony’s heavy metal footsteps soon followed, and the other soon came into view, pacing slowly around the room in his full armor, holding tight to Tyr’s arm, likely even to bruise the god. Tyr did not look pleased. In fact, he looked as if he was personally planning Anthony’s demise. That was just the effect his mad inventor had on people. Especially the ones he didn’t particularly like. “See, a long while ago, some genius came up with these things called _security cameras_. And a long while ago, some idiot named Howard Stark had them fitted into Asgard’s weapons vault, paying a great deal of money to have a magician shield him from Heimdal’s view. Then came along the genius named Tony Stark who was able to hack the ancient camera’s and get a feed of the man who let the Jotun’s into Asgard’s weapons vault, where the Casket of Ancient Winter’s is. See, this genius named Tony Stark was not only world renowned, he was _universe_ renowned. Why, you ask? Because he was smarter than the entire lot of people who call themselves _Royals_ in every other world out there from Midgard to Asgard to Jotunhiem. And then Tony Stark became King of Midgard for a day, lost his kingdom, regained it with the help of an _extremely talented God_ , who he happened to be married to, who also gave him a kick in the ass to get him going again. Well, it wasn’t really a kick. Maybe a gentle nudge in the right direction?” The man shook his head. “Anyways, this genius Tony Stark who was a King now as well decided that he wanted his husband _alive_ because damn, have you ever seen anything sexier? Also, this Tony Stark really, _really_ hates it when people touch his things.” Anthony stepped closer to Odin now, his metal encased fingers tightening their hold on Tyr’s arm. The mad inventor stepped onto the stairs before Odin until the pair stood face to face, Odin having sat back down towards the beginning of Anthony’s speech. “And can you guess what he found?” his mortal said lowly. “ _Evidence_. _Proof_. The fucking _truth_ , because some people still value that. See, when I went in to the vault where you decide to keep every damn thing you’ve never wanted anything to see- which, by the way, not a good idea to put it all in the same room-  I noticed that the Casket of Ancient Winters was still there. And it got me wondering: why would they break in and not even manage to get what they came for? The more I thought about it, the more I realized- it was staged.” A slow, wicked smile began to spread across Anthony’s face. “Who else, _Odin_ , has the power to get two dozen Frost Giant’s to do his bidding? A _King_. See, but you couldn’t do it alone. It wouldn’t be odd for the God of War to be in the vault. It _would_ , however, be odd to see the King of Asgard in the vault mere hours before Jotunhiem’s attack. It wouldn’t been much more acceptable, the God of War actually _starting a war_. But it was nice and easy to put the blame on Loki, wasn’t it? Black Sheep of the family, magic wielder, and even more, _not a real Odinson_.” Loki felt a jolt of shock pass through him- what in the nine could Anthony be talking about? “It was _so easy_ to put the blame on Loki, wasn’t it? Especially when he’s Jotun as well. You wanted a peace offering, didn’t you? Knew you would need one at some point, right? See, here’s the thing, Odin. The only reason you’ve survived so long is because you’ve shoved your problems onto other people- you’re crafty, I’ll give you that, but you can’t spend an entire lifetime like that.” Anthony snorted a breath of a laugh. “Believe me, I would know. Oh, and by the way?” Anthony’s smirk grew. “Don’t call me ‘mortal’; it’s _King Stark_ to you.”

Loki sucked in a breath, his mind playing through everything Anthony had just said as rapidly as he could process it. A Frost Giant? Him? Odin had planned this entire thing out, step by step? His own _father?_ Well, no, not according to Anthony. But the man he’d come to know as a father?

“You think you know all of this?” Odin said after a stony, tense silence.

“Trust me,” Anthony said, sharing a secret little smile with mother. “I know.”  
Odin caught the look and turned his single eye to mother.

“What did you do, Frigga?” Odin asked, trying- and failing- to contain his anger.

“I simply told the truth, Odin dear. It is time everyone knew. I was not- am not- going to let you destroy everything we have created. It is time you step of the throne and give it to its rightful owner- cleansed of its lies so everyone can have a new beginning.” Mother said, smiling a soft smile at Odin.

“ _You have destroyed us, Frigga_ ,” Odin hissed lowly, standing now.

“No, dearest. I have destroyed _you_.” Mother smiled. “Guards, show your king his rightful place in the dungeons.” The guards came forward immediately, taking Odin by the arms and cuffing the old God before he could even protest, cutting off the magic his staff Gungir gave him.  The guard at Loki’s side took the chains from Loki’s wrists and went over to Anthony and Tyr, putting them on Tyr instead and marching him off after Odin. Mother gave Loki a small, mischievous smile and followed after the pair. Thor quickly followed, still looking as shocked as Loki felt. The other’s in for the trial filed out slowly, shock still evident on their faces, until it was just him and Anthony alone.  
Anthony stepped out of the armor, physically slumping, looking as if the events had drained him greatly. The mortal looked as if he hadn’t slept in days, leaving him completely and utterly exhausted.  
But that didn’t stop either of them from rushing to each other and holding each other tight.

“You fool,” Loki whispered into the shorter man’s hair.

“Yeah,” Anthony agreed.

“You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Maybe…but can you really look around and tell me it wasn’t worth it?”

“No,” Loki said softly. “I cannot.” And then he kissed Anthony, slowly and passionately, pushing everything he’d ever felt and everything he’d ever wanted to say but never had into that kiss, leaving them both breathless and light headed.

“I love you, Loki,” Anthony whispered softy. Loki held him closer, tighter, safer.

“I love you too, my dearest Anthony.”

*

They ended up getting married. Or, remarried, Loki supposed, but he was unsure whether or not a four year absence while Anthony thought he was dead still counted as marriage, so they got married.  
It was a lovely ceremony held at Anthony's spot near his tree- quiet, reserved, nothing large. Mother and Thor came, and so did Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov and a handful of other Shield operatives who had played their part in not only ridding of Obadiah, but also in saving Anthony’s life. Anthony had told him of the jacket and the sandwich and how it was one of the most profound things that had happened during Loki’s time in Asgard’s cells.  
Thor almost couldn’t make it; Kingly duties and whatnot.  
Odin and Tyr were locked away in cells for good.  
Jotunhiem, Midgard and Asgard were once again allied in peace.  
Everything was the way it was supposed to be once more.

“We’ve been through a lot,” was how Anthony began his vows, fidgeting nervously. “And when I say a lot, I mean it. We both lost everything but I think, in the process, we gained so much more. We’ve achieved universal peace, we’ve given Asgard and Midgard alike their rightful Kings’; we’ve started things anew. Over this…long and quite honestly not-so-fun journey, I’ve realize a couple of things- had an epiphany, if you will. One, I am a complete and utter possessive asshole and you’re going to have to live with that for a long while to come. Two, I really, really suck at speeches. Three, I completely and utterly love you and have fallen for you in every way possible and no matter what you do, no matter what life throws at us, no matter what anyone says, that will never change. You’re stuck with me and I’m stuck with you now and forever and I think that that’s all that really matters. Here’s to forever, Loki dear.”

Neither of them waited for the preacher to tell them to kiss after their vows. They didn’t have to, nor did they want to. Yes, they were stuck with each other now and that was completely alright.

They were just getting a glass of wine when Fury approached them.

“Congrats,” the man said. “Don’t think anyone ever thought it would happen.”  
Natasha, Steve, Thor and two other people- a man with a shy smile and glasses named Bruce Banner and another Shield agent wearing a purple shirt with Tweety-Bird on it named Clint Barton-

“To be honest, Fury, neither did we,” Anthony admitted with a grin.

“However,” Fury continued. “I’m here to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” Loki asked.

“Something important. An idea, really. It would involve a team of sorts. I’m hoping you’re interested? We’ll go into more detail when you say yes.”

“When?” Anthony asked, raising a brow.

“When,” Fury confirmed.

“What is it?” Loki and Anthony asked it in unison, startling a smile from the small group gathered round them.  
Fury grinned.

“It’s called the Avengers Initiative.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well guys, this is it! The end!  
> I am so thankful for everyone who stuck with me for these couple of months. I really appreciate it. I am so glad for everyone who read and commented and gave kudos- you guys are great

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, I hope you guys like! Comments and Kudos fuel me to write faster!  
> We went through a title change!


End file.
